LIBRARY 

OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA. 


GIFT    OF 


THE  BANCROFT  LFBRARY. 

TST'3 

Class    G814- 

k 


K 


7 

KING  SHAM, 

AND 

OTHER   ATROCITIES    IN    VERSE; 


INCLUDING  A 


HUMOROUS   HISTORY 

OF  THE 

PIKE'S    PEAK    EXCITEMENT. 

BY 
LAWRENCE   N.   GREENLEAF. 


NEW   YORK: 
PUBLISHED   BY   HURD   AND    HOUGHTON, 

459  BROOME  STREET. 
1868. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1868,  by 

KURD  AND  HOUGHTON, 

in  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  for  the  Southern  District 
of  New  York. 


RIVERSIDE,   CAMBRIDGE  : 

STEREOTYPED    AND    PRINTED    BY 
H.    O.    HOUGHTON   AND   COMPANY. 


PREFACE. 


MANY  of  the  pieces  in  this  collection  were  first 
made  public  under  the  nom  de  plume  of  "  Peter  Pun- 
ever." 

Though  the  fact  of  their  having  "  gone  the  rounds  " 
and  "  stood  the  press  "  might  argue  their  popularity, 
not  till  an  author  is  fairly  "  under  cover  "  are  the  crit 
ics  in  "  full  cry ! "  Readers,  on  the  contrary,  are 
expected  to  be  "  full  of  laugh  " —  a  state  of  hilarity, 
according  to  the  old  adage,  so  highly  conducive  to  cor 
pulency,  that  it  must  necessarily  involve  questions  of 
considerable  weight.  The  division  of  literature  into 
"  Solid  Reading "  and  "  Reading  for  the  Solid,"  may 
yet  be  rendered  imperative. 

Leaving  all  such  speculations,  however,  to  those  phil 
osophically  inclined,  with  a  firm  conviction  that  pref 
aces,  generally  speaking,  are  unnecessary  inflictions, 
and  that  one  who,  in  this  enlightened  age,  knowingly, 

229504 


IV  PREFACE. 

willfully,  and  maliciously  commits  "  poetry,"  can  have 
no  reasonable  excuse  to  offer,  I  subside  with  the  follow 
ing  (the  idea  having  originated  with  Foote,  it  appeals 
the  more  directly  to  the  understanding) :  — 

I've  taken  off  all  sorts  of  folks,  'tis  right 
That  I  should  take  myself  off —  so,  good-night. 


CONTENTS. 


THE  ICE-BREAKER 7 

KING  SHAM;  A  HIT  AT  THE  TIMES          ...  9 

THE  SEVENTH  SON  OF  A  SEVENTH  SON        ...  31 

RESPONSE  TO  A  TOAST       ......  35 

OYSTERS,  FRIED  IN  CRUMBS  .        .  •      .        .        .36 

ON  YOUTHFUL  LINGUISTS 37 

VERSES  AND  REVERSES             38 

NED  BROWN;  OR,  THE  BITER  BIT     ....  41 

THE  OFFICE  SEEKER      .          ......  45 

THE  SPREADING  RUMOR 47 

BACHELOR  BABBITT 48 

SOLD  ! 50 

A  LOGICAL  CONCLUSION        .        .        .        .        .        -51 

SCANDAL  AND  TEA 51 

PIKE'S  PEAKERS  OF  '59 52 

THE  TURKEY  WAR 64 

SHOVELS  AND  PICKS  ;  OR,  THE  MODEL  SUPERINTENDENT  70 

A  QUERY            75 

THE  CHEESE  Box 76 

THE  IN-SPIRED  AUTHOR            77 

DECIDEDLY  SHEEPISH! 78 

YOUTH  —  DIVESTED  OF  SENTIMENT            ...  79 

EPIGRAM  ON  GORMANDIZER   ...  80 


VI  CONTENTS. 

JESTING  AND  DIGESTING     .         .        .        .                .  81 

ON  THE  DEFENSIVE 82 

VERY  CHAGRINING! 83 

IN  FOR  FUN            84 

ON  THE  PROSPECT  OF  A  DRAFT  IN  NEW  YORK  CITY  85 

ON  HAND! 87 

THE  MYSTERY  SOLVED 90 

A  DUBIOUS  COMMAND 92 

QUIPS,  QUIRKS,  AND  QUIBBLES    .        .        .        .         .  93 

THE  SKELETON  IN  AN  AMOUR 96 

PRICES  CURRENT 100 

SERIOUS    AND    OCCASIONAL    PIECES. 

SHADES  AND  GLEAMS      .        .        .  .        .        .105 

COLUMBUS 107 

REMEMBRANCE         ...                ....  120 

THE  SOFT  ANSWER 121 

THE  TAUNT  .........  122 

O  YOU  MAY  SING  OF  THE  ROSY  WlNE    .        .        .  123 

THE  WAR 124 

THE  PROPHET  OF  OUR  DREAMS         .        .        .        .  125 
POEM  FOR  THE  FOURTH  OF  JULY         .        •        .        .127 

POEM  FOR  ST.  JOHN'S  DAY 131 

NOTES 140 


THE   ICE-BREAKER. 

OFT  in  the  still  and  gloomy  hour  of  night, 
When  not  a  star  or  planet  greets  the  sight, 
When  all  seems  drear  —  before  us  in  the  dark 
The  little  fire-fly  sheds  its  starry  spark. 
So,  I,  now  that  the  shining  lights  of  song 
Withdraw  awhile  their  presence  from  the  throng, 
Would  seize  the  moment  to  invoke  the  Nine, 
And  with  the  lightest  verses  strive  to  shine  ! 
Good  counsel  gives  my  Muse  for  times  like  these  — 
Instead  of  "  Please  to  write,"  says,  "  Write  to  please." 
Ah !  what  will  please  ?   I  often  gravely  ask, 
And  then  with  trembling  hand  begin  my  task. 
If  you  are  curious,  listen  to  my  cue  ; 
You  sue  for  fun,  'tis  fun  that  I  pursue. 
For  I  contend,  a  line  in  mirthful  strain 
Is  worth  a  score  of  sonnets  to  Matilda  Jane. 
And  he  whose  pen  doth  make  the  laugh  go  round, 
May  not  be  great  or  with  the  laurel  crowned, 
Yet  'mong  his  friends,  who  pile  the  praise  on  thick, 
Pass  for  a  "  lion  "  or  a  "  perfect  brick ! " 
Perhaps  a  word,  a  thought,  awakes  my  Muse, 
I  grasp  my  pen  and  penetration  use ; 
Description  fails  ;  alas !   that  power  I  lack,  — 
Pegasus  rears  and  throws  me  from  his  back. 
Don't  laugh,  my  friends,  that  I  received  a  fall, 
Poetic  lays  are  much  esteemed  by  all. 


ICE-BREAKER. 

;  A«^«then  myself  I  raise, 
Pegasus  paws  the  ground,  I  pause  and  gaze  ; 
Then  grasp  his  mane,  the  main  thing  I  may  say, 
Leap  on  his  back,  and  onward  urge  my  way 
Straight  o'er  the  turnpike  road  which  leads  to  Fun, 
And,  like  John  Gilpin,  go  upon  the  run. 
I  write  in  vain,  —  that  is,  in  humorous  vein,  — 
Or  strain  your  patience  with  some  mirthful  strain ! 
My  hand  is  on  my  brow,  my  steed  doth  browse 
On  all  the  puns  the  jovial  Muse  allows. 
Remember,  they  are  scarce  these  latter  days, 
We  have  to  fetch  them  a  tremendous  ways  ! 
I  write  a  line  —  erase  it  —  "  there  's  the  rub  !  " 
See  how  the  punster  bites  his  pencil  nub. 
How  thick  the  dents  with  thoughts  identified  — 
Come,  laughing  MOMUS,  o'er  my  verse  preside ! 


KING   SHAM. 

A    HIT    AT    THE    TIMES. 


r  I  "*HE  petty  despot  may  control  a  state, 
X     A  vaster  realm  ambitious  potentate  ; 
But  greater  still  the  subject  of  my  rhymes, 
Who  claims  adherents  in  all  lands  and  climes  — 
The  great  King  Sham,  how  wondrous  is  his  sway ! 
Kings,  princes,  priests,  and  people  throng  the  way 
To  Humbug  Palace,  and  allegiance  own 
To  him  who  sits  upon  a  bogus  throne  ; 
Who  wears  paste  diamonds  in  his  plated  crown, 
Whose  royal  purple  is  a  shoddy  gown! 
Whose  long  ambrosial  locks  (so  poets  sing) 
Adorned  the  peasant  ere  they  graced  the  king! 
Whose  beard  was  gray,  until  a  liquid  dye 
Transformed  it  black  as  midnight's  starless  sky. 
The  flush  upon  his  cheek  —  a  subterfuge, 
Two  coats  of  "  Lilly  White  "  and  one  of  Rouge  ! 
The  pearly  teeth  his  parted  lips  expose 
Are  artificial,  and  —  so  is  his  nose ! 

Strange  that  to  him  mankind  should  bend  the  knee, 
Deceit  his  law,  and  Humbug  his  decree ; 
Whose  honeyed  words  conceal  a  purpose  vile ; 
Whose  smile,  so  winning,  is  a  tempter's  smile. 


10  KING   SHAM. 

Whose  shriek  of  anguish  is  ecstatic  joy ; 
His  look  of  pity,  hate  that  would  destroy. 
Gentle  his  tones,  when  anger  doth  prevail; 
His  tears  are  gladness,  and  his  laugh  a  wail. 
He  looks  most  hopeful  though  his  heart  despair, 
And  breathes  a  blasting  curse  in  seeming  prayer. 

View  Humbug  Palace  with  distrustful  eyes,' 

Whose  marble  walls  in  stately  grandeur  rise ; 

Profuse  in  ornament,  above,  below ;  — 

What  dazzling  splendor,  and  what  gorgeous  show ! 

All  glare  and  glitter,  tinsel  and  veneer  ; 

King  Sham's  abode  —  of  course  there 's  gammon  here  ! 

Those  marble  walls,  alas,  are  refuse  brick, 

O'erspread  with  mastic  scarce  two  inches  thick  ! 

With  cunning  skill  the  massive  blocks  are  traced, 

Apparent  veins,  sharp  zigzags  interlaced. 

From  base  to  dome,  or  cornice,  cap  or  sill, 

Where'er  we  turn,  a  splendid  mockery  still ! 

Above  the  lofty  tower,  to  tatters  torn, 

There  waves  a  banner,  blazoned  with  a  Horn  ! 

A  fitting  symbol,  though  he  talks  most  chaste, 

In  which  his  actions  may  be  rightly  placed  ! 

His  council  hall  the  Muse  shall  open  fling; 
There,  on  his  bogus  throne,  reclines  the  king. 
Behold  the  flashy  splendor  of  his  court, 
Where  cunning  knaves  and  hypocrites  resort; 
Astrologers,  impostors,  lottery-schemers, 
Shrewd  fortune-tellers,  and  clairvoyant-dreamers  ; 
Keen  operators,  getters-up  of  swindles, 
For  instance  —  Stock,  which    down   to   nothing   dwin 
dles  ! 


KING    SHAM.  II 

Pickpockets,  sharpers  of  the  genus  quack, 
Mock  auctioneers,  one  driver  of  a  hack ! 
Sleek  "thimble-riggers,"  slippery  as  an  eel, 
With  "  pigeon-droppers  "  close  upon  their  heel. 
Some  pious  knaves  and  fashionable  preachers  ; 
Wire-pulling  demagogues,  deceitful  creatures ; 
Dishonest  tradesmen ;  few,  if  any,  Quakers ; 
Note-forgers,  and  suspicious  sausage-makers ! 
With  "  bounty-jumpers,"  quite  a  late  invention ; 
And  scores  of  others  that  I  cannot  mention. 
A  few  there  were,  of  managers  and  actors ; 
The  devil  knows  how  many  of  contractors ! 
Adepts  in  cunning,  marvels  of  deceit ;  — 
Such  are  the  courtiers  cringing  at  his  feet. 

Bogus  the  coin  and  counterfeit  the  bills, 
With  which  his  followers'  craft  his  treasury  fills. 
His  court  physician  you  have  heard  about, 
"  Whose  sands  of  life  have  nearly  all  run  out." 
Thus  swallows  down,  to  cure  his  various  ills, 
Empiric  nostrums,  Purgum's  patent  pills  ! 
But  last  of  all,  the  very  climax  capping, 
Is  his  religion  —  modern  spirit-rapping ! 

Oft  to  his  feasts  his  retinue  repair  — 
Behold,  the  fearless  Muse  conducts  you  there. 
When  once  within  his  spacious  banquet  hall, 
Observe  the  paintings  on  the  gaudy  wall  : 
Among  the  rest,  on  which  your  glances  strike, 
Bless  me,  a  Rubens,  Titian,  and  Vandyke  ! 
Ah  !  there  is  genius,  there  is  art  sublime  : 
Each  tint  seems  softened  by  the  hand  of  time, 
So  true  to  nature  is  each  scene  portrayed ! 


12  KING    SHAM. 

What  wondrous  coloring !  Ah,  such  light  and  shade ! 
Such  gems  as  those,  no  modern  e'er  can  equal. 
You  wouldn't  say  so,  if  you  knew  the  sequel ; 
That  those  Old  Masters,  over  which  you  glow, 
Were  painted  only  sixty  days  ago ! 

At  base  deception  soon  your  sense  recoils  ; 

His  choicest  liquors  are  essential  oils  ! 

While  logwood  mingles  in  the  rosy  wine 

That  tastes  so  like  the  product  of  the  vine. 

His  champagne,  as  a  sham,  eclipses  all  — 

Sour  Jersey  cider  bottled  up  last  Fall! 

Their  plated  goblets,  poised  on  high,  they  hold, 

To  toast  the  king  in  wine  that 's  labelled  "  Old." 

The  vintage  "  1790  "  —  Sham  declares  ; 

'Tis  made  of  beet  juice,  and  soft  rotten  pears ! 

The  pastry,  jellies,  and  the  savory  meats 

Are  each  and  all,  most  arrant,  base  deceits. 

Sand  in  his  sugar,  plaster  in  his  bread  ; 

Vermilion  colors  e'en  his  pepper  red. 

His  Java  coffee  —  chicory,  beans,  and  pease; 

Decocted  sloe-leaves  are  his  favorite  teas ! 

His  milk  is  watered,  and  made  thick  with  chalk, 

Or  from  distillery-stables  in  New  York. 

"  Mock  turtle  "  is  the  soup  that  suits  his  savor  ; 

His  sausages  have  got  a  canine  flavor ! 

Lard  in  his  butter  is  no  rank  offense  ; 

While  wooden  nutmegs  show  a  gleam  of  sense  ! 

But  his  corned  beef  you'd  never  eat,  of  course ; 

Unless,  you're  very  partial  to  salt  horse ! 

His  basswood  hams,  carved  from  and  not  on  blocks  ! 

They're  minnows,  surely,  in  that  sardine  box ! 


KING   SHAM.  13 

I'd  merely  mention,  while  you  seize  your  hat, 
That  tender  rabbit  was  a  maltese  cat ! 

'Tis  plain  a  king  can  have  whate'er  he  wishes  ; 

I've  only  named  his  most  luxurious  dishes  ! 

Deceitful  thus  in  actions,  taste,  and  manners, 

His  cabbage-leaf  cigars  he  calls  "  Havanas." 

His  pipe,  it  is  mere  sham  (excuse  the  pun), 

His  watch  a  pinchbeck,  never  known  to  run  ! 

His  carriage  shaky,  and  got  up  for  show  ; 

His  stylish  horses  foundered  long  ago ! 

With  sawdust  bran,  and  oats  from  shoe-pegs  whittled, 

The  story  goes  the  quadrupeds  are  victualed  ! 

The  books  are  plagiaries  which  meet  his  views  ; 

His  steamboat-boilers  have  defective  flues ! 

From  quaker  guns  I  guess  there  's  no  report ! 

The  list  is  lengthy  —  let  us  cut  it  short. 

From  Humbug  Palace  and  its  gilded  towers, 
Its  glare  and  glitter,  its  enticing  bowers, 
The  Muse  conducts  you  through  the  busy  land 
Where  abject  millions  bow  to  his  command ; 
And  as  from  .Vice  she  lifts  the  gorgeous  veil, 
Your  heart  shall  sicken  and  your  cheek  turn  pale. 
Now  don't  imagine  this  is  strictly  true, 
I  know  you'll  laugh  before  I'm  fairly  through. 
Despite  each  sad  and  gloomy  phase  of  vice, 
I've  not  left  out  what's  most  essential  —  spice. 
What  were  a  band  without  their  rolling  drums  ? 
What  were  plum-puddings  if  they  had  no  plums  ? 
What  were  the  bravest  soldiers  without  guns  ? 
Or  humorous  verse  without  redeeming  puns  ? 


14  KING   SHAM. 

In  childhood's  days,  so  innocent  and  bright, 
Flowers  bloomed  along  our  path,  and  silvery  light 
Fell  o'er  us  from  a  myriad  shining  spheres  ; 
Wild,  gushing  songs  were  ringing  in  our  ears, 
Bewitching  fancies  dancing  through  our  brain  ; 
Our  hearts  were  joyous  and  without  a  stain. 
O,  innocence  of  youth,  we  knew  no  guile 
Nor  base  deceit  that  lurks  beneath  a  smile. 
Upon  the  breast  of  Truth,  in  fond  embrace, 
Content  we  lay  our  little  childish  face, 
And  gazing  upward  with  our  pleading  eyes 
She  sang  for  us  her  sweetest  lullabies. 
O,  thought  revolting  to  our  inmost  heart, 
Each  day  we  journey  all  our  dreams  depart ; 
Each  day  we  mingle  in  the  busy  strife, 
Each  day  we  thread  the  labyrinths  of  life, 
How  oft  those  sinful  words  our  lips  repeat, — 
"  The  world  's  a  mockery  and  our  lives  a  cheat !  " 
Ah,    is  our  wisdom  then  —  a  pearl  of  price  — 
Which  shows  us  less  of  virtue,  more  of  vice  ? 
Like  wayward  children  from  the  lap  of  Truth, 
Each  year  we've  further  strayed,  till  now,  forsooth, 
Ripe  wisdom  says,  within  a  well  she  's  found  — 
We  miss  her  presence  —  wonder  if  she's  drowned  ! 

Stray   through   the   world,    in   fact,    search   where   you 

will, 

King  Sham  asserts  his  vast  dominion  still. 
Deceit,  alas,  we  find  it  everywhere ! 
'Tis  in  the  food  we  eat,  the  clothes  we  wear  ; 
The  toper  drinks  it  in  his  frequent  toddy, 
It  decks  the  soldier  in  his  tattered  shoddy ; 
We  don  it  with  our  hats  beyond  dispute, 


KING   SHAM.  15 

The  ladies  flaunt  it  in  their  silks  of  jute  ! 

We  burn  it  in  the  running,  wasting  taper, 

We  tread  upon  't  with  soles  of  wood  or  paper ! 

We  fly  to  it  to  cure  us  of  our  ills  — 

Who  does  not  find  it  in  his  monthly  bills  ? 

'Tis  in  religion  and  in  every  creed, 

While  in  the  papers,  'tis  one  half  we  read  ! 

Merchants  adulterate  their  goods  and  wares, 

Mechanics'  work  is  done  to  need  repairs  ! 

The  Poet  even,  and  the  man  of  letters, 

Oft  shine  in  plumage  borrowed  from  their  betters. 

Behold  the  Judge,  exemplar  of  the  right ; 
The  difference  'twixt  him  and  yon  wretch  is  slight : 
One  struck  a  thoughtless  blow,  no  doubt  'twas  cruel ; 
The  judge  has  "  killed  his  man,"  in  every  duel ! 
If  you  are  poor  the  sentence  must  prevail  — 
Prepare  to  linger  months,  or  years,  in  jail. 
But  if  you're  rich,  consoling  is  the  thought  — 
The  judge  and  jury  are  already  bought ! 

The  Lawyer's  crafty  cunning  we  abhor, 
Who  picks  a  pocket  as  he  picks  a  flaw  ! 
And  loads  the  scales  of  justice  with  such  skill 
They'll  turn  toward  Error,  place  them  as  you  will ! 

The  Preacher  who  in  language  all  but  tender, 
Doth  prate  of  sin,  last  night  was  on  a  bender  ! 
The  widows  and  old  maids  all  praise  him  highly, 
Because  he  's  single  and  makes  love  so  slyly  ! 

Yon  sanctimonious  man  with  downcast  eye, 


1 6  KING    SHAM, 

Is  but  a  villain  of  the  deepest  dye. 

A  canting  hypocrite,  who  patters  prayers 

And  apes  the  saint,  to  veil  his  secret  snares. 

Who  talks  of  Christian  grace,  and  yet  would  thrust 

Poor  starving  wretches  in  the  very  dust ; 

Sick,  suffering,  dying,  he  must  have  his  rent ; 

They  totter  forth  from  crowded  tenement. 

All  this  he'd  do,  and  he  would  never  rue  it, 

Unless  he  thought  some  mortal  saw  him  do  it ! 

Throughout  the  week  he  talks  of  Zion's  flocks  — 

On  Sunday  robs  the  contribution-box  ! 

The  Missionary  glibly  begs  our  dimes, 
To  send  the  gospel  into  heathen  climes. 
Yes,  lavish  money  on  the  savage  sinners, 
Our  starving  poor  can  go  without  their  dinners  ! 
Do  darkened  minds  no  rays  of  truth  require, 
Beneath  the  shadow  of  the  Christian  spire  ? 
Let  vice  and  sin  run  rampant  near  at  hand  — 
But  preach  religion  in  some  distant  land  ! 

"  The  People !  "  is  the  Politician's  cry, 

"  The  People  !  "  shouts  he  from  the  rostrum  high  ; 

But  once  elected,  and  in  Congress  seated, 

How  then,  by  him,  are  the  dear  people  treated  ? 

Before  the  world  each  speech  the  papers  quote, 

But  in  the  lobby  "  How  much  for  my  vote  ? " 

The  Temperance  Man  has  seized  a  curious  whim — 

Unless  he  's  sick,  no  stimulants  for  him 

Which  send  mankind  to  ruin  double-quick  — 

Isn't  it  a  pity  he  's  so  often  sick  ? 

I  must  alter  the  metre  to  level  a  pun, 

And  to  ask  him  a  question  —  Why  under  the  sun, 


KING   SHAM.  17 

Don't  he  locate  in  Tunis,  have  things  his  own  way, 
Where  the  folks  are  all  under,  not  over  the  Bey  ? 

The  Gambler  will  relieve  you  of  your  "  tin," 
To  draw  you  on,  will  always  let  you  win. 
Behold  the  victim's  anxious  looking  face  ; 
See!  he  has  raised  the  winning  card  —  the  ace. 
The  ten-spot  next  —  ten-ace-ous  silly  goose, 
Stake  your  last  dollar,  then  you'll  raise  the  deuce ! 
Old  Pharaoh's  host  beneath  the  waters  sank, 
But  Faro's  host,  more  prudent,  keep  the  bank  ! 
Let  gamblers  "whip  the  devil  'round  the  stump," 
For  they'll  be  startled  at  the  final  trump  ! 

The  Public  Speaker  gives  a  sham  discourse, 

And  then  expects  you'll  cheer  him  till  you're  hoarse. 

His  flowery  figures  are  a  mere  pretense, 

He  would  palm  off  as  sound  and  sober  sense ; 

While  Latin  phrases  with  the  prefix  "  Dog," 

Obscure  his  meaning  like  a  London  fog ! 

With  swaying  body,  and  his  arms  thrown  high, 

Away  he  soars  toward  Fancy's  glowing  sky. 

Here,  in  his  manuscript,  he's  left  a  pause, 

To  note  the  place  where  he  expects  applause  ! 

If  you  don't  give  it,  then  he's  in  a  fix, 

For  down  he  comes,  just  "  like  a  thousand  bricks," 

And  seeks  in  vain  to  signal  with  his  fist, 

The  train  of  thought  his  drowsy  hearers  missed  ! 

Such,  with  a  parting  shot,  I  must  assail  — 

He  who  thus  spouts  is  "  very  like  a  whale !  " 

With  painted  wounds,  the  Beggar  e'en  will  try 
To  claim  a  pittance  from  the  passers-by. 
2 


1 8  KING   SHAM. 

One  sturdy  fellow  feigns  a  broken  leg ; 
Though  hale  in  body,  strong  in  limb,  doth  beg. 
Another  still  as  shrewd,  all  work  doth  shun, 
By  stopping  strangers  with  his  plaintive  dun  : 
No  work  —  'tis  three  days  since  he  tasted  meat, 
Wants  some  few  cents  to  save  him  from  the  street. 
Give  him  a  dime  —  then  mark  how  straight  a  line 
He    makes    toward    shops    with    "  Liquors "    on    the 
sign! 

A  little  child  was  once  the  tool  of  those 
Who  made  a  living  shamming  human  woes. 
She  sobbed  a  tale  to  suit  such  exigencies  : 
Her  father  dead,  no  money  for  expenses. 
Yes,  in  a  coffin  lying  cold  and  dead, 
She  had  no  money,  e'en  to  buy  some  bread. 
If  you  would  go  with  her  (she  sobbed  again) 

You'd  find  him  in  a  garret,  in  Lane. 

A  tale  so  piteous  touched  a  generous  mind  ; 
Who  took  her  hand,  and  with  an  impulse  kind, 
Sought  out  the  drear  abode  of  want  and  pain  ; 
And,  sure  enough,  there  lay  a  corpse,  'twas  plain. 
He  felt  compassion  for  such  bitter  sorrow, 
Gave  from  his  purse,  and  said  he'd  call  to-morrow ; 
Went  down  the  stairs,  and  gained  the  narrow  lane  ; 
Ah,  in  his  flurry,  he'd  forgot  his  cane  ! 
Quick  he  returned,  and  softly  oped  the  door, 
The  sight  transfixed  him  to  the  spot  with  awe  — 
The  sight,  indeed,  was  terrible  and  strange  — 
There  sat  the  corpse  a  counting  o'er  the  change  ! 

How  many  a  rich  man  of  our  goodly  land, 
Grasped  tight  his  hoarded  gold  with  clenched  hand. 


KING    SHAM.  19 

In  vain  distress  and  want  approached  his  door 

To  crave  a  pittance  from  his  countless  store  ; 

In  vain  the  poor  beseeched,  in  vain  they  plead  — 

But  mark  the  sequel  when  the  man  was  dead  : 

His  will  was  opened,  and,  as  there  recorded, 

Rich  institutions  got  the  gold  he  hoarded. 

The  papers  praised  his  noble  heart  and  mind, 

His  generous  deeds  (that  is,  the  ones  he  signed) ! 

His  kind  consideration  for  the  poor 

(He  didn't  overload  their  stomachs,  sure)  ! 

His  splendid  charities  (when  he  was  dead)  ! 

This,  and  much  more,  the  smiling  skeptic  read. 

Alive,  no  man  was  ever  more  despised, 

He  died  —  how  soon  a  saint  was  canonized  ! 

Some  merchants  seem  to  interest  wholly  lost, 
And  always  sell  their  fabrics  less  than  cost! 
Though  one  would  think  such  men  extremely  rash, 
They  seem  to  prosper,  and  make  lots  of  cash  ! 
Large  stocks  of  goods  which  others  seek  to  slaughter  ; 
Are  only  "  Slightly  Damaged  —  Wet  by  Water  !  " 
Could  you  but  look  within  their  stores  at  night, 
You  would  be  startled  at  the  strangest  sight : 
Fresh  goods  are  taken  from  the  shelves  and  cases, 
Unfolded,  tumbled,  thrown  in  various  places ; 
Bedrenched  with  water,  and  dragged  to  and  fro 
Through  dust  and  dirt,  till  spots  begin  to  show  ! 
Then  piled  on  counters,  —  what  a  grand  display 
For  bargain-seekers  on  the  coming  day, 
Who  wouldn't  buy  the  goods  when  clean  and  nice, 
But  since  they're  damaged,  pay  a  higher  price ! 

The  stuff  called  Brandy,  made  upon  our  soil, 


20  KING   SHAM. 

A  base  admixture  with  essential  oil, 

When  it  to  France  and  back  the  trip  has  made, 

Is  placed  in  bonded  warehouse,  duty  paid  ; 

Wiseacres  who  before  had  stood  aloof, 

Pronounce  it  Cognac  of  the  highest  proof! 

Of  pure  Champagne,  the  fact  has  been  exhumed, 

France  yields  one  tenth  of  what  is  here  consumed ! 

The  charm  of  e'en  the  best  Cigars  would  vanish, 

Without  the  halo  of  a  lie  in  Spanish ! 

Distilling  Extracts  yearly  sold  the  trade, 

Would  busy  Lubin  more  than  one  decade  ! 

The  fact  unknown,  or  thoroughly  disguised, 

Our  home  productions  are  well  patronized! 

A  myriad  shams,  on  every  hand  we  see  ; 
Doctors  grow  rich  although  they  disagree. 
While  one  prescribes  a  liberal  dose  for  all, 
That  of  another  is  minutely  small. 
One  showers  with  water,  packs  in  ice ; 
Another  calls  this  practice  an  enormous  vice  ; 
One  lets  you  eat  whate'er  your  palate  craves  ; 
Unless  you  nearly  starve  another  raves. 
These  learned  doctors  oft  consult  together 
In  doubtful  cases,  as,  for  instance,  whether 
There  yet  remains  the  shadow  of  a  chance 
For  one  who  lays  unconscious  in  a  trance  — 
Whose  strange  disease  quite  baffles  all  the  skill 
Of  those  whose  motto  is  to  "cure  or  kill." 
In  breathless  silence  they  most  closely  scan 
The  livid  features  of  the  dying  man. 
The  case  was  clearly  hopeless,  so  they  said ; 
Yet  all  agreed  the  sick  man  must  be  bled. 
But  when  they  plunged  a  lancet  in  his  arm, 


KING   SHAM.  21 

His  sense  returned,  he  started  in  alarm  :  — 

"  Where  am  I  ?    Bless  me,  what  an  awful  fright ! 

Why,  blast  your  eyes,  old  hoss,  I'm  only  tight !  " 

A  nervous  man  persuades  himself  he  's  ill, 

Old  Bolus  gives  the  man  a  single  pill, 

Whose  healing  virtues,  let  it  here  be  said, 

Were  good  as  wheat,  since  it  was  made  of  bread  ! 

The  man  revives,  a  wondrous  change  we  see, 

The  doctor  chuckles  at  his  liberal  fee  ! 

Betwixt  the  doctors,  doses  large  and  small, 

The  wonder  is,  that  we  survive  at  all ! 

I've  dealt  quite  gently  with  the  wise  M.D.'s, 
But  curse  the  chaps  who  never  got  Degrees  ; 
Or,  if  they  did,  they  bought  them  ready-made, 
Since  making  parchments  has  become  a  trade  ! 
They  advertise  such  nostrums  in  the  prints 
As  Hifalutin  Balm  —  sure  cure  for  squints  ! 
If  croup  bids  fair  to  strangle  you  or  throttle, 
Of  Bluffum's  Balsam  try  a  single  bottle  ; 
Just  keep  a  taking  till  your  health  returns, 
And  bear  in  mind  —  it 's  excellent  for  burns  ! 
If  you  have  pimples,  blotches  on  your  face, 
Buy  CurealPs  Salve,  which  never  leaves  a  trace. 
He's  got  some  hundred  testimonials,  too  ; 
He  wrote  them  all  himself,  that 's  very  true. 
One  "  salt-rheum  cure,"  convincing  in  its  way, 
Increased  the  sales  a  hundred  gross  a  day ! 
If  your  disease  appears  to  be  the  chronic, 
Why  swallow  down  the  Universal  Tonic. 
If  "rheumatis"  is  tugging  at  your  "jints," 
Try  Limber's  Lotion  —  always  ask  for  pints  ! 
Or  grasp  the  wire  of  some  magnetic  box, 


22  KING    SHAM. 

Which  shocks  the  feelings  with  electric  shocks  ! 

If  at  the  rest  you  feel  somewhat  aggrieved, 

A  cordial  should  be  cordially  received  ! 

Gigantic  posters,  and  huge,  flaming  bills, 

Announce  the  virtues  of  new-fangled  pills. 

Quacks  make  large  fortunes  through  their  rapid  sale, 

This  is  the  Age  of  Pills  —  so  pill-age  must  prevail ! 

For  beardless  youths  a  tempting  snare  they  lay  — 

Luxuriant  whiskers  and  moustaches  gay, 

Are  forced  to  grow  on  smoothest  lips  and  cheeks, 

Reducing  Nature's  task  to  one  of  weeks  ! 

It  cost  a  dollar  for  the  worthless  stuff, 

A  youth  applied  it,  and  —  why  sure  enough, 

Intently  gazing  in  the  glass,  he  saw 

A  splendid  crop  of  blisters  on  his  jaw  ! 

More  trifling  venture  was  the  postage  stamp, 

Enclosed  by  thousands  to  the  graceless  scamp, 

Who  said  he'd  send  a  recipe  by  mail, 

Which  had  been  tried  and  never  known  to  fail, 

Producing  whiskers  and  moustaches  too  ; 

In  just  three  minutes,  which  was  strictly  true. 

The  long  expected  letter  from  New  York 

This  sage  direction  gave  —  "  Apply  burnt  cork." 

Among  the  many  shams,  so  very  shocking, 
I  think  the  shrewdest  one  is  Spirit  Knocking. 
'Tis  plain  that  spirits  knock  men  in  the  gutter, 
And  they  are  carried  homeward  on  a  shutter ; 
But  that  the  spirits  should  knock  over  tables, 
Or  make  them  dance  the  polka,  are  mere  fables. 
Yes,  they  are  wise  and  very  knowing  chaps, 
Who  hold  mankind  enraptured  by  their  raps  ! 


KING   SHAM.  23 

This,  I  affirm,  although  a  paradox  — 
John     Knox,    when    preaching,     was     not    preaching 
knocks ! 

King  Sham  exerts  his  greatest  power  and  sway 

O'er  all  the  humbugs  of  the  present  day ; 

What  takes  so  well,  or  draws  with  such  a  force, 

As  "  Codfish  Mermaids,"  or,  a  "  Woolly  Horse  ; " 

As  "  Learned  Mice,"  or  "  Educated  Fleas  ;  " 

"  Live  Whales  imported  from  the  Polar  Seas," 

"A  Living  Skeleton,"  "a  Western  Giant," 

Or,  "  Ground  and  Lofty  Tumbling  "  most  defiant. 

Outside  the  circus  tent,  what  side-shows  thrive, 

Where  calves  with  two  legs  gaze  at  one  with  five ! 

Great  wonders  must  the  public  oft  behold, 

Though  ten  to  one  they  get  most  badly  sold  ! 

Something  to  startle,  or  perchance  appall  'em, 

As  Barnum's  "What  Is  It,"  or  "What  d'ye  call  'em." 

Fair  woman  !  she  can  never  condescend 

To  base  deceit  to  gain  some  favorite  end. 

Alas  !  'tis  true,  as  to  their  forms  and  faces, 

When  they're  less  gifted  than  the  fabled  Graces, 

They  never  seem  to  feel  such  great  restraint 

To  give  their  pallid  cheeks  a  coat  of  paint ! 

Their  forms  —  yes,  friends,  the  truth  must  be  expressed, 

Where  Nature  fails  why  cotton  does  the  rest ! 

Let  exercise  restore  her  faded  bloom, 

And  save  the  languid  beauty  from  the  tomb; 

Nor  give  the  jovial  punster  cause  to  say, 

The  damsel  of  the  Past 's  the  dam— sel  of  To-day ! 

Society  's  a  sham,  beyond  a  doubt, 


24  KING   SHAM. 

And  few  there  are  but  what  have  found  it  out. 

The  crowd  of  lovely  belles  and  foppish  beaux 

Who  throng  gay  Fashion's  halls  —  do  you  suppose 

They  never  practice  their  alluring  arts  ; 

To  win  our  homage  or  besiege  our  hearts  ? 

Behold  yon  fop,  quite  innocent  of  brains  ; 

As  he  fair  Julia's  fixed  attention  gains, 

What  mighty  topics  they  discuss  together  — 

Dumas'  last  novel,  fashion,  or  the  weather  ! 

Enough  —  for  be  it  fine  or  be  it  rainy, 

We'll  chat  awhile  with  charming  Miss  Delainy ; 

Though  Beauty,  Wealth,  and  Fashion  throng  the  hall, 

The  gayest  flirt,  the  ruling  star  of  all ! 

What  sunny  smiles  to  chain  our  roving  gaze ; 

With  pouting  lips,  ambitious  of  our  praise, 

She  says  she  never  looked  so  like  a  fright  — 

(We  think  ourselves  she  's  pretty  nearly  right ! ) 

But  then  King  Sham's  decrees  are  here  obeyed, 

So  praise  her  beauty  or  her  rich  brocade  ! 

Nor  fail  to  mark,  though  lavish  praise  we  speak, 

'Tis  Paris  rouge,  not  blushes,  on  her  cheek  ! 

Not  half  so  much  amazed  as  those  who  say 

They  saw  a  beauty  drop  her  teeth  one  day ! 

Nor  he  whose  sweetheart  sick  three  weeks  in  bed, 

Beheld  her  tresses  turn  from  black  to  red ! 

The  mistress  to  the  kitchen  oft  repairs, 

And  deigns  to  regulate  her  house  affairs ; 

While  thus  engaged,  behold  the  door-bell  rings, 

Says  she  :  "  Quick,  Biddy !  drop  your  baking  things,. 

Answer  the  bell,  and  mind  what  you're  about, 

Be  sure  and  tell  the  callers  that  I'm  out." 

But  when  she's  dressed,  and  sitting  quite  at  ease, 


KING   SHAM.  25 

When  ladies  call,  assiduous  strives  to  please. 
The  servant  enters  —  "  Mrs.  Stuckup's  card." 
Descends  and  greets  her  with  professed  regard. 
She  says  aloud,  "  I'm  glad  you've  called  once  more  :  " 
But  to  herself,  "  Plague  on  that  horrid  bore  !  " 

In  all  large  cities,  if  you  chance  to  look, 

You'll  find  a  class  who  live  "  by  hook  or  crook." 

The  angler's  art  successfully  they've  tried, 

And  hooked  their  shiners  from  the  human  tide  ! 

"  Oil,"  "  Gold,"  or  "  Silver,"  was  the  tempting  bait 

That  lured  the  gudgeon  to  his  luckless  fate. 

'Twas  in  the  Keystone  State,  some  years  ago, 

Petroleum  first  from  wells  began  to  flow 

In  quantities  so  vast,  some  folks  astounded, 

Began  to  think  the  story  was  well  founded  — 

That  revolutions  of  the  earth  must  cease 

Because  the  axis  would  be  drained  of  grease  ! 

Each  great  excitement  has  of  course,  its  limit : 

Something  will  happen  that  will  surely  dim  it. 

So  when  the  thousands  rushed  in  breathless  haste, 

And  bought  oil  lands,  and  showed  the  queerest  taste, 

Had  bored  the  ground  till  it  was  like  a  strainer,  — 

It  drained  their  cash,  could  anything  be  plainer? 

Though  wells  were  struck,  a  hundred  barrels  flowing, 

The  credit  side  a  deficit  was  showing ; 

A  "  quarter  "  for  a  barrel  —  slow  at  that : 

They  paid  ten  hogsheads  for  the  cheapest  hat, 

Some  twenty  more,  for  common  "  stogy  "  boots  — 

Absorbed  an  aqueduct  in  Sunday  suits  ! 

A  fortune  large  they  surely  couldn't  see, 

When  reservoirs  were  emptied  on  a  spree ! 


26  KING   SHAM. 

And  so  the  "  smaller  fry  "  began  to  mizzle, 
With  sundry  hints  that  something  was  a  fizzle  ! 

Some  years  elapsed,  petroleum  took  a  rise, 
Five  Dollars  at  the   Well !  met  people's  eyes. 
Excitement  reached  the  very  highest  pitch, — 
The  way  was  open,  all  might  now  grow  rich ; 
Invest  their  cash  in  one  of  those  affairs, 
Consisting  of —  two  hundred  thousand  shares  ! 
So  said  each  sharper,  with  a  placid  smile, 
Whose  company,  of  course,  had  just  "struck  ile." 
"  Three  thousand  barrels  —  prospect  of  increasing  !  " 
A  flattering  tale  to  those  whom  they  were  fleecing ; 
And  based,  they  said,  upon  the  last  reports  — 
Instead  of  barrels,  it  was  really  quarts  ! 
To  place  the  stock  within  the  people's  reach, 
The  shares  were  offered  at  five  dollars  each  ! 

To  get  a  President  had  been  a  sticker ; 

One  night,  however,  influenced  by  liquor, 

A  merchant  prince,  who  joined  his  name  with  theirs, 

Received  a  present  of  ten  thousand  shares ! 

Then  other  gentlemen  of  wealth  and  fame 

Accepted  office  when  they  saw  his  name. 

The  public  confidence  remained  unshaken  ; 

In  just  three  weeks,  lo,  every  share  was  taken! 

There  came  at  last  a  crashing  and  a  breaking,  — 

Stock  they  term  Oil  a  great  turmoil  was  making  ! 

Great  companies  exploded  like  a  rocket ; 

The  holes  they  bored,  alas,  were  in  the  pocket ! 

While  those  "  sardines,"  who  from  the  shock  recoil, 

Are  not  the  first  whose  fate  was  sealed  in  oil ! 


KING   SHAM.  27 

The  game  was  up,  Oil  Stock  was  fast  declining; 

Fresh  bait  might  tempt  the  gudgeons,  so  to  Mining 

Their  base  of  operations  they  transferred 

(Base  operations  is,  perhaps,  the  word). 

Their  "  oily  gammon  "  of  the  month  before, 

Gave  place  to  phrases  such  as  "  ore  "  for  "  bore  ; " 

"  Flowed  "  changed  to  "  lode,"  and  acres  into  "  feet  "  — 

The  transformation  was  indeed  complete. 

With  "  assays  "  rich  (some  ass  says  what  wiU  fail !) 

Formed  companies  upon  the  grandest  scale, 

Whose  "  lodes  "  no  miner  ever  yet  could  trace, 

"  Extensions  "  —  which  extended  into  space  ! 

The  "  yield  "  unyielding  in  a  truthful  test  ; 

For  "  specimens  "  from  "  claims  "  which  paid  the  best, 

And  which  the  owners  much  preferred  to  hold, 

Were  not  fair  samples  of  the  ones  they  sold  ! 

Like  Mrs.  Lot,  the  lots  are  often  "salted;" 

So  pray  reflect,  nor  pay  a  price  exalted, 

Unless  you're  certain,  when  "  results  "  are  shown, 

The  ore  the  chaps  had  tested  —  was  their  own ! 

One  of  those  persons  who  contrive  to  shirk, 

By  shrewd  devices,  anything  like  work, 

Once  advertised  this  very  curious  myth : 

Heirs  wanted  for  the  large  estate  of  Smith : 

Which  lay  in  England  and  was  still  unclaimed. 

Five  millions  sterling  was  the  value  named. 

All  of  the  name  of  Smith  where'er  dispersed, 

Perchance  might  find  their  fortunes  here  reversed ; 

For  full  particulars  concerning  same, 

Enclose  One  Dollar  to  —  fictitious  name. 

The  lucky  scamp,  who  this  shrewd  scheme  devised, 

Egad  !  was  most  amazingly  surprised,  — 


28  KING    SHAM. 

When  twenty  thousand  Smiths,  with  one  accord, 
Would-be  descendants  of  some  English  lord, 
Sent  him  their  cash,  expecting  they  would  get 
A  speedy  answer  —  and  are  waiting  yet ! 

A  sweeping  censure  would  my  Muse  bestow 
On  those  conceited  mortals  here  below, 
Who  for  some  action  they  imagine  great, 
Present  themselves  with  services  of  plate  ! 
One  does  his  duty  —  custom  has  decreed 
A  fitting  token  for  so  rare  a  deed ! 

When  War's  shrill  clarion  echoed  through  the  land, 
Full  fifty  thousand  claimed  some  high  command ; 
Had  e'en  one  fifth  succeeded,  why  to-day 
Ten  thousand  Generals  would  have  held  their  sway. 
How  strange  to  hear  one  hundred  Brigadiers 
Thunder  their  orders  in  —  one  private's  ears  ! 
Despite  the  legions  who  our  chief  assailed, 
Thank  God  !  a  wiser  plan  at  length  prevailed, 
Gave  birth  to  what  I  call  a  brilliant  notion  — 
The  motion  pro  or  con  became  /r^-motion  ! 

Think  you  in  such  a  time  of  startling  danger, 
Sham  was  forgetful  of  the  public  manger  ? 
If  you  think  thus,  it  is  a  sorry  blunder, 
For  he  got  every  contract  spite  of  thunder ! 
Go  ask  the  soldier  and  he'll  tell  you  so, 
Whose  wooden  soles  are  gaping  at  the  toe  : 
His  tattered  shoddy,  should  he  chance  to  scan, 
Or  breeches  on  the  ventilation  plan  ! 
He'd  emphasize  his  answer  with  a  "  damn," 
And  say  'twas  furnished  by  that  rascal  Sham 


KING   SHAM.  29 

The  glaring  frauds,  the  brazen-faced  deceit, 

Are  known  to  all,  'tis  useless  to  repeat. 

When  brave  hearts  battled  for  their  country's  cause, 

To  crush  rebellion  and  sustain  the  laws, 

Sham's  minions  most  intensely  loyal  grew, 

And  cheered  and  shouted  for  the  "  Boys  in  Blue  ; " 

When  they  had  fired  the  Nation's  frenzied  feeling  — 

Accomplished  wonders  —  in  the  way  of  stealing ! 

Curse,    curse    the    wretch,   who,    from    low    groveling 

greed, 

Would  rob  his  country  in  her  hour  of  need  ! 
By  schemes  nefarious,  and  by  tricks  expert, 
Her  substance  squander  and  her  means  pervert; 
Defraud  her  soldiers  in  the  food  they  eat, 
Clothe  them  in  garments  rotten  with  deceit ! 
Those  high  in  office  at  the  frauds  would  wink, 
Nor  share  the  blame,  although  they  shared  the  chink ! 
Words  are  in  vain  —  give  Justice  ample  scope  : 
They've   stretched    our   patience,   let   them    stretch   a 

rope  ! 

Such  are  the  scenes  within  King  Sham's  domain 
The  Muse  presents  to  you  in  colors  plain. 
What  were  the  world  beneath  his  bogus  sway 
But  loathsome  mockery  each  night  and  day. 
We'd  gaze  but  to  encounter  some  new  cheat, 
While  gilded  traps  would  spring  beneath  our  feet. 
We'd  breathe  an  atmosphere  corrupt  with  vice, 
Horrors  would  freeze  our  very  blood  to  ice. 
There'd  be  no  love,  there'd  be  no  smiling  faces, 
For  frowning  hate  would  soon  usurp  their  places  ; 
Earth  be  transformed  to  hell,  and  life  a  curse, 
If  Sham,  not  Truth,  controlled  the  universe. 


30  KING   SHAM. 

From  Sham's  domain  thy  recreant  steps  retrace, 

Tear  off  the  base  insignia  of  the  place  ; 

Unmask  thy  visage,  spurn  each  dazzling  lie, 

And  sick  of  mockery,  from  its  presence  fly. 

The  Priestess  Truth,  all  radiant  and  divine, 

Bids  thee  approach  her  pure,  unsullied  shrine; 

Since  thou  hast  learned  the  folly  of  deceit, 

Thy  youthful  vows  let  riper  age  repeat. 

In  earth's  broad  lists,  where  struggling  hosts  contend 

Be  thou  Truth's  champion,  and  her  cause  defend  ; 

And  when  Sham's  minions  seek  to  bear  thee  down, 

Strive  for  the  victor's  wreath  or  martyr's  crown. 


THE  SEVENTH  SON  OF  A  SEVENTH  SON. 

THE  famous  Baron  Gullemall, 
The  prophet  and  the  seer, 
Ensconced  within  an  easy  chair 

Was  feeling  rather  queer, 
And  ever  and  anon  he  quaffed 
A  glass  of  lager  beer. 

You'd  take  him  for  an  aged  man ; 

His  head  was  white  with  snows, 
Of  fourscore  winters,  one  would  think, 

Did  I  not  here  disclose 
The  secret  that  he  wore  a  wig, 

And  chalked  his  jolly  nose  ! 

While  o'er  the  musty  books  and  charts 

The  tapers  dimly  shine, 
A  globe  celestial  and  a  skull 

Are  marshalled  into  line, 
By  shapes  that  bear  no  semblance  to 

Things  human  or  divine  ! 

You  see  a  picture  on  the  wall  — 
St.  George  who  slew  the  dragon ; 

He  looks  as  if  he  swallowed  down 
The  contents  of  his  flagon, 


32       THE  SEVENTH  SON  OF  A  SEVENTH  SON. 

Before  he  did  the  mighty  deed, 
The  Britons  love  to  brag  on. 

A  flaming  "  Card  "  in  public  prints 
Proclaims  his  wondrous  skill, 

For  by  the  stars  he  reads  your  fate, 
Your  fortune  good  or  ill, 

And  what  will  surely  come  to  pass  — 
When  water  runs  up  hill  ! 

This  Seventh  Son  of  a  Seventh  Son 
Whose  fame  is  known  abroad, 

Whose  mystic  skill  is  highly  praised 
By  noble,  duke,  and  lord  — 

Forgot,  when  leaving  foreign  parts, 
To  pay  his  monthly  board  ! 

Of  course  it  was  occasioned  by 
His  haste  to  reach  the  ship. 

How  strange  such  slips  of  memory  are  ? 
If  in  this  case  you'll  dip, 

You'll  find  he  kept  his  memory  — 
And  gave  his  friends  the  slip  ! 

As  he  was  sitting  all  alone, 
And  chuckling  o'er  his  gains  ; 

That  craving  for  the  marvelous 
Which  haunts  poor  feeble  brains, 

Had  brought  another  visitor 
Into  his  strange  domains. 

Lo  !  she  who  stood  before  him  now, 
Among  old  maids  was  classed  j 


THE   SEVENTH    SON    OF    A    SEVENTH    SON.  33 

As  if  to  test  his  wondrous  power 

She  questioned  of  the  past ; 
And  towards  the  Baron's  piercing  eyes 

A  timid  glance  she  cast. 

"You're  married,   so  the  stars  proclaim  — 

What's  this  that  I  descry? 
Four  children  have  your  union  blest  —  " 

The  maiden  gave  a  sigh, 
Then  springing  to  her  feet  she  shrieked  — 

"  You  cruel  monster  —  fie  !  " 

A  well-dressed  chap  next  ventured  in, 

And  told  him  his  desire ; 

"  You'll    make    some   noise    in    the  world,    my 
friend, 

Or  every  star  's  a  liar." 
The  Baron's  words  were  verified, 

For  he  became  town-crier ! 

A  body-snatcher  came  to  see 

If  what  folks  said  was  true  ; 
Then  says  the  Baron  carelessly  — 

"  Grave  subjects  you  pursue." 
Afraid  to  have  his  thoughts  laid  bare, 

The  man  in  haste  withdrew. 

Next,  one  whose  curiosity 

Had  reached  the  highest  pitch, 
Desired  to  see  his  future  wife, 

And  learn  if  she  were  rich  ; 
And  if  her  face  were  beautiful, 

Or  ugly  as  a  witch. 


34      THE  SEVENTH  SON  OF  A  SEVENTH  SON. 

The  Baron  waved  his  hand,  and  lo  ! 

A  panel  moved  aside, 
And  dimly  through  a  veil  of  gauze 

A  visage  he  descried  ; 
He  started  back  as  pale  as  death, 

Intensely  horrified. 

A  fearful  oath  he  would  have  sworn, 

But  he  could  only  groan ; 
To  steal  a  march  on  destiny 

He  vowed  he'd  live  alone ;  — 
He  never  spoke  to  woman  more  : 

The  secret  was  his  own ! 

Day  after  day  the  people  came 
To  have  their  fortunes  told  : 

The  rich  and  poor,  the  young  and  fair, 
The  wrinkled  and  the  old  ; 

While  Gullemall,  in  one  short  year, 
Ten  thousand  noodles  sold  ! 

Had  I  the  gift  of  Gullemall, 
Fate's  mysteries  to  explore, 

In  all  the  lotteries  I'd  invest, 
The  highest  prizes  draw ! 

The  hidden  wealth  of  Captain  Kidd 
Should  see  the  light  once  more. 


RESPONSE  TO   A  TOAST. 

JUST  so !  I,  when  invited,  raised  no  doubts 
But   what   you'd   put   me    through    "  a  course   of 

sprouts  : " 

When  you  ask  me  to  speak,  just  mind  your  eye: 
A  leaf,  to  rustle,  must  be  mighty  dry ! 
Well !  on  the  feast  just  ended,  I'll  rehearse 
A  sort  of  dish-ertation  done  in  verse ; 
But  this  I'll  say,  lest  some  should  think  it  strange, 
Our  range  of  thought  is  not  the  cooking  range  ! 
Look  at  those  saucers  —  say!  what  sorcery  is  nigh? 
And  all  those  plates,  just  contemplate  and  sigh, 
To  think  no  more  good  things  you  can  partake  — 
You've   grown    too    full    (you'll    groan    e'er    morning 

break) ! 

Shall  I  emerge  from  this  grub  state,  and  fly 
With  spangled  wings  through  Fancy's  glowing  sky? 
Ah  no !   my  friends,  I'll  linger  with  the  rest : 
To  make  the  laugh  go  round  I'll  do  my  best. 
Now  hold  your  sides,  for  Mirth  shall  rule  the  day ; 
Then  light  your  rocket-jokes,  and  blaze  away  ! 


OYSTERS,  FRIED   IN   CRUMBS. 

IVE  Frenchmen  frogs,  Italians  macaroni, 

The  cannibal  some  human  thumbs ; 
The  wise  savants,  a  well-conditioned  pony  — 
But  give,  O,  give  me  "Fried  in  Crumbs." 

In  praise  of  cats  and  rats  the  Chinese  shout, 
John  Bull,  to  his  roast  beef  succumbs  ; 

Give  Hans,  the  Dutchman,  beer  and  sauerkraut  — 
But  give,  O,  give  me  "Fried  in  Crumbs." 

No  doubt  the  Esquimau,  with  seal  and  blubber, 
Is  quite  content  when  cold  benumbs  ; 

I'd  sooner  think  of  chewing  India  rubber  — 
Then  give,  O,  give  me  "Fried  in  Crumbs." 

I  know  that  salmon  and  green  pease  are  fine, 
Roast  ducks  and  geese  are  nice  and  juicy, 

Folks  have  their  likes  and  dish-likes:  I  have  mine 
So  "Fried  in  Crumbs"  —  dear  Al.  and  Lucy. 


ON   YOUTHFUL   LINGUISTS. 

AN    EPIGRAM. 

IN  modern  schools,  the  scholars  sage, 
When  they  are  sixteen  years  of  age, 
Profess  to  know,  yet  never  speak, 
The  French,  the  Latin,  and  the  Greek. 
These  prodigies,  when  fully  grown, 
Speak  every  tongue  —  except  their  own! 


VERSES   AND   REVERSES. 

THE  ferry-boat  approached  the  shore, 
A  cat,  seen  by  the  skippers, 
Began  to  pur  around  the  slip  — 
Yet  not  around  the  slip-pers ! 

Behold  the  type  of  innocence 
That  skips  across  the  green  ; 

You  know  full  well  a  lamb  is  meant  — 
Yet  no  lam-(m)ent,  I  ween ! 

O,  he  was  such  a  jolly  chap, 

The  owner  of  the  hall ; 
He  was  not  one  who  bawls  aloud  — 

Yet  he  allowed  the  ball ! 

A  roofer  once  was  sorely  pressed, 
When  bills  came  pouring  in  ; 

For  though  the  chap  could  tin  the  plank 
He  couldn't  "  plank  the  tin  !  " 

A  gambler  at  the  point  of  death, 

This  sober  moral  shows  : 
However  well  he  throws  the  die  — 

He  dies  with  awful  throes  ! 


VERSES   AND    REVERSES.  39 

A  chimney-sweep,  his  insults  base, 

On  Biddy  'gan  to  heap  ; 
When  she  who  used  to  sweep  the  floor  — 

Turned  round  to  floor  the  sweep ! 

A  quack  once  saw  a  vision  rise, 

Which  fairly  took  away  sense : 
Not  "  Patience  on  a  Monument "  — 

But  monuments  o'er  patients  ! 

We  gaze  upon  the  world,  and  shout: 

"  Will  wonders  never  cease  ?  " 
We  seize  a  pig  and  grease  its  tail  — 

Yet  see  no  Tale  of  Greece ! 

A  man  may  dote  upon  his  aunt, 

Yet  not  on  anti-dotes  ! 
A  blacksmith  often  notes  a  forge  — 

Who  never  forges  notes  ! 

Don't  fly  into  a  passion,  friend, 

And  raise  a  furious  rumpus  ; 
You  placed  the  compass  in  a  box  — 

You  did  not  "  box  the  compass  !  " 

A  man  may  sail  across  the  deep  — 

And  not  be  "  half  seas  over  !  " 
Pearl  divers  get  in  awful  straits  — 

But  not  tfre  Straits  of  Dover ! 

From  filly  madly  dashing  by, 
A  quickly  sprang  aside  ; 


40  VERSES   AND    REVERSES. 

That  'twas  a-filly-A-shun  —  no 
Logician  would  decide. 

Like  Walton,  angle  in  the  brook, 
Not  like  a  pack  of  ninnies  — 

And  what  you  there  descry,  may  be 
A  fin  —  yet  not  a  Fin-is  ! 


NED   BROWN;   OR,   THE   BITER   BIT. 

A    PARAPHRASE. 

E  Scituate,  that  famous  town, 
'Tis  situated  near  the  sea ! 
Where  lived  Joe  Kerr,  of  great  renown, 
A  great  jo-ker  was  he  ! 

Once,  when  his  house  was  furnished  new, 
With  everything  that's  grand  and  fine, 

He  thought  he'd  ask  the  favored  few 
To  see  the  change  —  and  dine. 

Now,  on  the  morning  of  that  day, 

Ned  Brown,  who  was  a  "knowing  bird," 

As  he  was  passing  by  that  way 
Called  in  to  say  a  word. 

As  Joe  was  shaving  at  the  glass, 
He  told  friend  Brown  to  look  at  all 

The  changes  he  had  made,  then  pass 
Into  his  dining  hall. 

While  there,  friend  Brown,  who  oft  had  tried 
To  get  the  start  of  him  in  jokes, 

For  once  was  certain  he  espied 
Good  luck  on  Fortune's  spokes. 


42  NED    BROWN. 

Then  slyly  from  his  pocket  drew 

A  small  tape-measure,  took  the  height 

Of  splendid  tables  which  he  knew 
Would  be  in  use  that  night. 

He  told  his  friend  he  could  not  stay, 
And  gave  some  very  trivial  reason  ; 

Says  Joe,  "  Good-bye  !  to-night,  I  pray, 
Be  sure  and  come  in  season." 

The  guests  arrive,  each  takes  his  seat, 
Course  after  course  their  palates  try ; 

In  shortest  metre  eat  the  meat, 
And  pass  the  parsnips  by. 

One  quails  before  a  tempting  quail, 
And  says  that  they  are  merely  shams  ; 

One  ailing  chap  declines  the  ale, 
Yet  clamorous  calls  for  clams. 

This  broth  the  "  broth  o'  a  b'y  "  would  please, 

Some  witty  one  at  length  declares  ; 
While  pease  his  appetite  appease, 
Despairing  of  the  pears. 

The  host  conniving,  soon  their  knives 

They  bury  deep  in  berry  pies ; 
Impeach  him  who  for  peaches  strives 

To  get  the  largest  size. 

The  cloth  removed,  impatient  Ned 
Declared  the  tables  were  quite  fine  ; 

The  carving  was  so  rich,  he  said, 
Of  such  a  neat  design. 


NED    BROWN.  43 

The  nick  of  time  !  —  so  in  he  chimed, 
As  thick  their  praises  round  him  fly : 
"  There  's  only  just  one  fault  I  find, 
They  are  a  trifle  high." 

"Too  high?"  the  host  replies,  "too  high? 

I  think  they  surely  are  too  low." 
"  A  great  mistake,"  says  Ned  ;  "  my  eye 

Is  quite  correct,  I  know, 

"  And  two-feet-six  should  always  be 

The  height  of  tables  such  as  these ; 
They're  higher  by  an  inch,  I'm  free 
To  bet  you  what  you  please." 

"  Were  I  not  owner,  by  the  zounds  ! 

And  certain  of  the  height,  I  swear 
I'd  bet  you,  Ned,  full  fifty  pounds, 
To  see  the  thing  proved  fair." 

"  I'm  certain  too,  the  height  I  know, 

My  eye,  I  say,  is  always  true  ; 
I'll  bet  the  money  with  you,  Joe, 
Now  hold  the  stakes,  friend  Drew." 

"  'Tis  done  ;  come  servant,  bring  the  yard  "  — 
"  Hold !  Joe,  now  don't  be  quite  so  swift ; 
For  once,  my  boy,  —  don't  take  it  hard,  — 
I've  set  you  all  adrift. 

"  For  when  I  called  this  very  morn, 

I  took  the  height,  and  set  it  down; 
Was  I  not  certain?  own  the  corn, 
And  pass  along  each  crown." 


44  NED    BROWN. 

What  peals  of  laughter  follow  now, 

While  in  the  midst  Joe  's  voice  is  heard :  — 
"  One  moment,  friends,  if  you'll  allow, 
I'd  like  to  say  a  word. 

"  You  were  quite  right ; "  a  glance  he  cast, 
But  what  it  meant,  no  one  suspected ; 

"  One  thing,  I  know,  whatever  passed, 
The  mirror  true  reflected. 

"  I  saw  the  whole,  and  well  I  guessed 

What  witty  thought  had  seized  your  brain, 
And  noticed,  as  your  hand  I  pressed, 
The  smile  you  would  restrain. 

"  You  left  —  don't  look  so  pale,  I  beg ; 

At  jokes,  you  know,  you  should  not  flinch  : 
I  seized  a  saw,  and  from  each  leg 
I  cut  off — just  an  inch!  " 

"How  'bout  that  eye?"  "I  own  up  now," 
'Mid  roars  of  laughter  muttered  Brown  ; 

"  And  here's  the  stakes,  well  won,  I  vow  — 
Don't  tell  it  to  the  town." 

/ 

They  left  quite  late,  with  a  jovial  song, 

A  whispered  joke,  a  sharp  retort; 
You  think  the  legend  is  too  long  — 
The  leg-end  was  too  short! 


THE  OFFICE   SEEKER. 

ELECTION  day  is  near  at  hand, 
The  "Cards"  will  soon  appear 
Announcing  that  friend  Jones  will  stand 
For  office  —  and  the  beer. 

And  though  he  oft  hath  passed  you  by, 

Amid  the  bustling  crowd, 
He  soon  will  say,  —  "How  are  you,  Cy? 

My  boy  you  do  me  proud." 

To  be  polite  to  all,  he  strives  ; 

His  voice  could  not  be  milder, 
As  he  inquires  about  their  wives 

And  all  the  little  "childer." 

He  holds  your  hand  within  his  own, 

And  glibly  chats  awhile  ; 
Then  says,  in  such  a  winning  tone,  — 

"  Let's  take  a  friendly  smile." 

Says  —  while  a  steaming  "Tom  and  Jerry" 

Is  gliding  down  your  throat, — 
"  I  was  adverse  to  running  —  very, 
But  how  about  your  vote?" 


46  THE   OFFICE   SEEKER. 

The  full  returns  the  papers  quote, 
And  Jones  looks  most  forlorn; 

He  gave  a  "  horn  "  to  get  a  vote  — 
He  got  it  —  in  a  horn! 


THE   SPREADING   RUMOR. 

TWO  antiquated  spinsters  sat 
Commenting  on  the  news  ; 
With  copious  draughts  of  Hyson  tea 
To  clarify  their  views. 

Says  Gossip  One  to  Gossip  Two : 

"While  shopping  in  the  town, 
Old  Mrs.  Pry  to  me  remarked  — 

Smith  bought  his  goods  of  Brown." 

Says  Gossip  Two  to  Gossip  Three, 

Who  cast  her  eyelids  down  : 
"I've  heard  it  said,  to-day,  my  friend, 
Smith  got  his  goods  from  Brown." 

Says  Gossip  Three  to  Gossip  Four, 

With  something  of  a  frown  : 
"  I've  heard  strange  news  —  what  do  you  think  : 
Smith  took  his  goods  from  Brown !  " 

Says  Gossip  Four  to  Gossip  Five, 
Who  blazed  it  round  the  town  : 
"I've  heard,  to-day,  such  shocking  news  — 
Smith  stole  his  goods  from  Brown  !  " 


BACHELOR   BABBITT. 

A   PATHETIC    NARRATIVE. 

A  BACHELOR  gay  was  dressing  for  the  ball,  . 
A  handsome  fellow,  well  proportioned,  tall. 
He  was  in  that  queer  state  (don't  blush,  Miss  Prude) 
That  common  parlance  would  determine,  nude ; 
That's  not  the  word — en  dishabille  I'd  say; 
Thread,  needles,  buttons,  all  around  him  lay. 
Inspects  his  linen,  wherefore  ?  you  may  ask, 
But  bachelors,  friends,  know  all  about  the  task. 
It  seemed  quite  plain,  that  long-continued  habit, 
Caused  this  procedure  on  the  part  of  Babbitt. 
Back  he  recoiled,  as  if  a  rattlesnake 
Had  stung  him  thrice  ;  his  very  limbs  did  quake, 
His  cheek  grew  ghastly,  while  his  eyes  were  fixed 
As  though  the  thing  was  looking  rather  mixed ! 
He  staggered  —  fell  —  as  if  from  mortal  hurt, 
Exclaiming  :  "  Heavens  !  a  button  on  my  shirt !  " 
Senseless  he  fell,  his  head  against  a  table, 
The  fall  alarmed  the  lodgers  ('tis  no  fable)  ; 
They  forced  his  door,  upon  the  upper  story, 
And  there  they  found  him  lying  pale  and  gory. 
They  raised  him  up,  and  placed  him  on  the  bed, 
And  when  his  senses  came  (some  hours,  'tis  said), 
He  wildly  stared  at  each  familiar  face  — 
They  asked  the  cause,  he  made  a  strange  grimace. 


BACHELOR    BABBITT.  49 

"  Saw  you  a  ghost,  a  goblin,  or  a  flirt  ? " 

"A  sight  more  strange  —  a  button  on  my  shirt!" 


MORAL. 


O  laundress  !  from  this  tale  a  lesson  learn, 
Remove  all  buttons  ere  you  dare  return 
Our  "  wash  " ;  for  sewing  buttons  is  our  habit, 
And  we  might  share  the  dreadful  fate  of  Babbitt. 


SOLD! 

ALONG  Broadway  two  dandies  slowly  passed, 
And  quizzing  glances  at  the  ladies  cast. 
Soon  they  beheld  a  form  they  thought  divine, 
With  Paris  hat  and  swelling  crinoline, 
Tripping  along  before  them  on  the  pave. 
"  Jove !  she  's  enough  to  make  a  fellow  rave," 
Said  Charles  Augustus  with  a  mincing  smile , 
"  Let's  pass  ahead,  my  boy,  and  see  her  style." 
"  Agreed  ! "  says  Ned,  and  onward  quick  they  budge  ; 
In  passing,  Ned  gave  Charley's  ribs  a  nudge, 
And  both  looked  back  at  her  they  thought  so  gay  — 
Their  faces  showed  a  look  of  blank  dismay  ! 
Despite  the  Paris  hat,  gay  flounce,  and  frill, 
She  proved  —  a  negro  wench,  "  dressed  out  to  kill  !  " 


A  LOGICAL  CONCLUSION. 

THOU'RT  like  a  treasury  note,  sweet  Annie  Lee, 
Grant  me  thy  hand,  and  I  will  prove  it  thee. 
Hark  ye  !  then  say  that  I'm  your  sworn  defender  — 
A  tender  Lee  gal  is,  a  le-gal  tender ! 


SCANDAL   AND   TEA. 

I'M  aware  that  the  grounds  in  our  coffee,  my  friend, 
Furnish  very  good  grounds  for  complaint ; 
Although  scandal  and  tea,  wise  philosophers  blend, 
One  is  easier  to  draw  than  to  paint ! 

I  have  found  that  hot  water  to  each  is  allied, 
(Grave  discussion,  now  pray  don't  begin  it !) 

For  you  cannot  have  one  without  it's  applied, 
Nor  the  other,  unless  you  are  in  it ! 


PIKE'S    PEAKERS   OF   '59. 

A    HUMOROUS    HISTORY    OF    THE    PIKE'S    PEAK 
EXCITEMENT. 


USHING  wildly  to  and  fro, 
J/V  Everybody  on  the  go, 
Rumors  never  travel  slow, 

While  the  golden  ones  go  kiting  ! 
And  excited  thousands  seek, 
Fortunes  large  in  Cherry  Creek, 
In  the  region  of  Pike's  Peak, 

Where  big  nuggets  lie  inviting. 

In  each  town  and  in  each  village, 
No  more  thought  of  land  or  tillage  ; 
All  seem  given  up  to  pillage  — 

No  one  ever  saw  the  like. 
"  Posey  county  "  l  is  in  motion, 

All  "South  Bend"  has  seized  the  notion, 
"  Prairie  schooners,"  2  ne'er  on  ocean, 
Leave  the  classic  shores  of  Pike  ! 

River  towns  are  full  of  folks, 
Cattle,  —  yea,  a  thousand  yokes 
Hitched  unto  the  wagon  spokes,  — 
Stubborn  mules,  and  horses  frisky  ! 


PIKE'S  PEAKERS  OF  '59.  53 

Flour  and  bacon,  picks  and  crows, 
Frying-pans  and  —  what  are  those? 
Barrels  of — the  devil  knows! 

But  I  think  they  call  it  whiskey ! 

Now  you  trip  upon  a  rope, 
Fall  between  a  box  of  soap 
And  a  keg  of  lard ;  I  hope 

That  no  bones  were  broke  in  falling. 
Folks  will  laugh  at  such  a  sight, 
And  one  fellow  swears  you're  tight, 
And  of  course  there  is  a  fight 

And  somebody  gets  a  mauling ! 

Such  a  noise  —  ox-whips  a  cracking, 
Trains  a  starting,  men  a  packing, 
Dust  a  rising,  horses  backing  — 

Second  Babel  on  the  earth ! 
Tongues  confused  and  wagons  shattered, 
And  again  mankind  are  scattered! 
Slightly  bruised  and  mud-bespattered  — 

What  a  carnival  of  mirth  ! 

Camping  out  upon  the  plains, 
Thinking  of  the  golden  gains 
That  will  pay  you  for  your  pains, 

And  the  comforts  you  have  missed. 
Your  first  biscuits  —  ar'n't  they  splendid  ? 
Saleratus  richly  blended  ; 
Grease  and  talent  both  expended  — 

Frying  bacon  to  a  crisp  ! 

Standing  guard  at  dead  of  night, 
Indians  have  been  seen  in  sight, 


54  PIKE'S  PEAKERS  OF  '59. 

And  you  tremble  with  affright, 

Thinking  of  those  scalps  all  gory! 
How  you  shot  your  leading  mule, 
That  was  grazing  near  a  pool, 
Roused  the  camp,  who  called  you  —  fool  ! 
And  would'nt  listen  to  your  story. 

Miles  of  wagon-tops  in  sight, 
Stretching  o'er  the  plains,  so  white, 
When  the  sun  was  shining  bright, 

In  those  days  of  "  Fifty-nine." 
Some  were  trudging  with  a  pack 
Bound  upon  their  aching  back, 
Some  drew  handcarts  o'er  the  track, 

Towards  their  Mecca's  golden  shrine. 

One  had  loaded  down  an  ox 

With  his  tools,  provision  box ; 

And  he  thought  it  "  knocked  the  socks  " 

Off  of  any  other  "feller." 
When  his  strength  began  to  fail, 
Then  he  grasped  the  "  critter's  "  tail, 
And  kept  jogging  on  the  trail, 

With  his  famous  ox-propeller  ! 

Outfits  strange  and  very  queer, 
Every  style  of  running  gear, 
Some  so  odd  it  seems  quite  clear 

That  old  Noah  first  gave  the  order. 
While  McGrew,  the  story  ran, 
Pushed  wheelbarrow  like  a  man : 
Such  was  his  house-keeping  plan  ; 

Spite  of  that  —  he  took  a  boarder  ! 


PIKE'S  PEAKERS  OF  '59.  55 

See  the  sides  of  wagons  traced 
With  inscriptions  —  all  but  chaste  ; 
Some  are  witty,  some  in  taste, 

Let  us  pause  awhile  and  ponder : 
There  's  "  Pike's  Peak  or  Bust !  "  —  sure  they 
Are  true  grit  and  bound  to  stay ; 
Three  months  later,  plain  as  day, 

We  may  read  they're  —  "  Bust,  by  Thunder  !  " 

Ho  !  for  Pike's  Peak !  "  so  they  go, 
A  rough  row  they'll  have  to  hoe  ! 
And  I  guess  they'll  find  it  so, 

Or  I'm  mightily  mistaken. 
There's  another  going  by, 
What  is  that?  — "Root  Hog  or  Die!" 
Looks  like  pluck;  no  doubt  they'll  try 

Deuced  hard  to  save  their  bacon. 

Those  old  oxen,  so  demurely 

Do  they  drag  that  wagon,  surely  — 

I  don't  wish  to  speak  obscurely, 

But  a  snail  could  give  them  odds. 
And  a  laugh  we  can't  suppress 
As  we  read,  "  Lightning  Express ;  " 
There  is  wit  and  nothing  less  ; 

What  a  joker,  by  the  gods ! 

Here  again  we're  led  astray; 
'Tis  no  joke,  the  numskulls  say ; 
And  explain  it  as  they  may, 

It  still  more  the  joke  is  heightening : 
For  we  learn  the  words  relate 
Not  to  speed,  but  to  the  fate 


56  PIKE'S  PEAKERS  OF  '59. 

Of  their  friend  and  fellow  mate, 

And  whose  death  was  caused  by  lightning! 

/Strike  the  butt  across  your  leaders ; 
Now  we  meet  the  first  stampeders  ; 
Listen  to  these  sorry  pleaders, 

What  a  tale  they  can  unfold ! 
"  Stop !  for  mercy's  sake  don't  go ; 
It's  all  humbug  and  all  blow  ; 
Not  a  "color"8  could  they  show, 
Not  a  thimbleful  of  gold." 

"  Denver  is  in  ashes  laid, 
And  a  lively  time  they  made 
Hanging  settlers,  who  essayed 

Of  their  mines  a  word  to  speak." 
What !  are  hundreds  turning  back, 
Listening  to  this  silly  clack  ? 
Never  mind,  keep  in  the  track, 

Let  the  cowards  homeward  sneak. 

Faded  are  their  golden  dreams, 
For  we  meet  a  thousand  teams, 
All  are  going  back,  it  seems, 

Swearing  —  well,  words  can't  express  it. 
Who  can  stem  this  human  tide, 
That  with  taunts  and  jeers  deride, 
Threaten  life  and  limb  beside  ? 

Very  few,  I  must  confess  it. 

Yet  those  few  were  brave  and  bold, 
All  along  the  Platte  they  strolled, 
And  at  length  Pike's  Peak  behold, 
Spite  of  hardships  without  number. 


PIKE'S  PEAKERS  OF  '59.  57 

But  those  eyes  on  Smoky  Hill, 
Famine  stricken,  never  will ; 
And  at  night  when  all  is  still, 

Stars  look  down  where  heroes  slumber. 

Talk  of  Progress  in  her  car, 
And  of  Empire  with  its  star 
Softly  gleaming  from  afar  — 

It  is  but  a  poet's  flight. 
Pioneers  —  yes,  men  like  they, 
Bone  and  sinew,  clear  the  way, 
And  when  things  are  all  O.  K. 

Madame  Progress  heaves  in  sight ! 

Towards  Denver  City  let  us  now  propel, 

Of  its  strange  sights  and  startling  wonders  tell. 

How  each  log-cabin  with  dirt-covered  roof, 

In  rainy  weather  was  quite  water-proof. 

But  when  no  longer  storms  about  them  lower, 

For  days  the  inmates  had  their  little  shower ! 

Crowds  thronged  the  gambling  halls  by  day  and  night ; 

How  they  did  scatter  in  a  row  or  fight ! 

At  Denver  Hall,  moved  by  an  impulse  strong, 

One  frightened  pilgrim  took  the  sash  along ! 

But  dog-fights  were  too  good  a  thing  to  lose, 

Nineteen  a  day  just  met  the  people's  views ; 

That  is,  if  each  his  mind  had  freely  spoken, 

For  dull  monotony  and  heads  were  broken! 

Before  a  dog-fight  lasted  half  a  minute, 

No  use  of  talking,  all  the  men  were  in  it ! 

Mankind  at  dances  'reft  of  woman's  charms, 

Tied  handkerchiefs  about  each  other's  arms. 


58  PIKE'S  PEAKERS  OF  '59. 

The   "  knot  was   tied "  which   changed   some   men   to 

women ! 
They    blushed    and    gushed  —  the    dances    went    on 

swimmin' ! 

With  canvas  tents  how  white  the  town-site  grew  ; 
From  morn  till  night  long  trains  were  passing  through 
The   crowded  streets ;   strange   groups   were    gathered 

there, 

At  which  each  pilgrim  looks  with  vacant  stare. 
Mankind  for  once  in  roughest  garb  he  sees 
Move  helter-skelter  like  a  swarm  of  bees ! 
And  there  was  one  strange  object  of  conjecture, 
He  might  be  called  a  spectre  or  prospecter ; 
Because  they're  both  so  very  near  akin, 
Where  one  leaves  off  the  other  must  begin ! 
Long  bushy  hair  upon  his  shoulders  lay, 
His  grizzly  beard  unshorn  for  many  a  day ; 
His  eyes  were  piercing  and  his  features  grim  ; 
His  hat  was  crownless  and  without  a  rim, 
From  which  the  tail  of  luckless  fox  doth  droop, 
The  only  ornament  to  which  he'd  stoop. 
Within  his  belt  an  old  six-shooter  thrust, 
Not   thrice,  six   times  he's    armed,  whose  quarrel  's  — 

dust ! 

He  is  a  type  of  this  adventurous  class ; 
A  few  more  comments  and  we'll  let  them  pass. 
Old  flannel  shirts  they  wore,  with  many  a  patch, 
While    "  graybacks  " 4    brought    the    wearers    to    the 

scratch ! 

Oft  were  their  breeches  with  old  flour-sacks  mended, 
In  which  more  truth  than  poetry  was  blended  ; 
For  by  the  brand  upon  his  trousers'  seat, 


PIKE'S  PEAKERS  OF  '59.  59 

There  goes  a  chap,  "  Made  from  Selected  Wheat !  " 
We  cannot  help  exclaim,  why  in  the  deuce 
Was  that  small  man  "  Put  up  for  Family  Use  ? " 
And  why  that  ponderous  chap  we  lately  met 
Was  falsely  branded  "  Ninety-eight  Pounds  Net  ? " 
To  those  rough  men,  a  tribute  would  I  pay, 
Who  "  made  the  riffle  " 6  in  that  early  day ; 
Who  set  to  work,  though  adverse  tales  were  told, 
And  turned  the  scales  with  glittering  scales  of  gold  ! 

The  Desperado  was  a  savage  "cuss," 
Eager  to  breed  a  row  or  raise  a  muss  ; 
Who  snuffed  afar  the  symptoms  of  a  fight, 
And  drew  his  "  navy  "  or  his  "  bowie  "  bright, 
And  always  made  it  his  exclusive  "  biz  " 
To  mingle  in  a  crowd  and  "  let  'er  whiz  ! " 
To  shoot  at  random  was  a  "  heap  "  of  fun, 
Rare  sport  to  see  the  people  break  and  run  ! 
His  vaunted  prowess  had  such   ample  swing, 
"  A  man  for  breakfast " 6  was  a  common  thing. 
On  him  at  last  the  tables  swift  were  turned ; 
A  wholesome  lesson,  to  his  cost,  he  learned. 
The  "  Vigys  " 7  pointed  to  an  empty  saddle, 
And  gave  him  just  ten  minutes  to  skedaddle  ! 
But  if  he  "  killed  his  man,"  why  then  you  see, 
Escape  was  certain,  that  is  —  up  a  tree ! 

Once  early  settlers  issued  forth  a  call, 

A  crowd  assembled  in  old  Denver  Hall, 

And  after  several  of  the  leading  speakers 

Had  touched  on  subjects  pleasing  to  Pike's  Peakers, 

One  would-be  speaker,  by  the  usual  game, 

Obtained  the  floor  to  urge  his  way  to  fame. 


60  PIKE'S  PEAKERS  OF  '59. 

"  George  Washington  "  —  in  rolling  tones  he  said. 
(Applause,  which  shook  the  rafters  overhead.) 
"  George  Washington  !  "  again  the  words  he  utters. 
(Immense  applause,  which  jarred  the  window-shutters.) 
"  GEORGE  WASHINGTON  !  "   this  time  a  little  higher. 
(Renewed  applause,  —  why  don't  they  "holler  fire?") 
"GEORGE  WASHINGTON!"    he    yelled,  in    tones 

of  thunder. 

(Applause  grew  frightful,  and  he  stood  from  under. 
For  those  old  settlers  in  that  early  day, 
Thought,  doubtless,  'twas  the  best  thing  he  could  say  !) 
I've  heard  dull  speakers,  would  to  heaven  they  could 
Have  uttered  anything  one  half  as  good. 

I  asked,  one  day,  a  question  strictly  proper, 
About  our  miles — you  may  not  care  a  copper! 
But  then,  I  thought  I'd  like  to  learn  the  truth, 
Some  are  so  long,  and  some  so  short,  forsooth. 
Old  Buckskin  heard  the  "  quiz  "  I  had  propounded, 
Took  a  fresh  quid  (a  quidnunc  I  had  sounded), 
"  Wai  !  stranger,  reckon  I  ken  make  it  clear, 
I'll  tell  yer  how  it  is,  'twont  seem  at  all  queer ; 
Fact  is,  it's  plain  as  pyrites  from  gravel; 
We  used  to  grub  the  men,  tell  'em  to  travel 
Till  it  gin  out,  and  then  (stranger,  don't  smile), 
To  kind  o'  calculate  they'd  gone  ten  mile. 
Yer  see,  they'd  start;  now,  some  were  frugal  eaters, 
Who  never  cared  a  cuss  for  rain  or  skeeters  ; 
They  pegged  ahead,  put  in  the  licks  quite  strong. 
And  so  their  miles  may  be  a  leetle  long. 
The  other  chaps,  a  hungry-gutted  set, 
Soon  lagged  behind,  with  appetites  beset, 
Ate  their  allowance,  and  then  shot  a  buck  ; 


PIKE'S  PEAKERS  OF  '59.  6 1 

Their  miles  were  short,  yer  bet  your  muckie-muck  ! 8 
That's  truth  outright,  that 's  how  we  reckon  miles, 
Or  close  my  peepers  up  with  rat-tail  files  !  " 
The  tale  may  please  those  who  love  fun  and  mirth  ; 
I  give  Old  Buckskin's  word  for  what  it 's  worth. 
Not  much,  perhaps,  the  hearer  doubtless  thinks; 
I  asked,  and  found  —  it  wasn't  worth  two  drinks. 

We  owe  our  gratitude  to  Horace  Greeley, 

Who  shed  for  us  his  printer's  ink  so  freely; 

Ir»  Denver  Hall  when  Horace  "  spoke  his  piece," 

For  once,  all  gambling  operations  cease. 

A  "three  card  monte"  chap  forsook  his  game, 

Politely  loaned  his  table  —  Horace  took  the  same. 

On  agriculture  and  our  great  resources, 

He  marshalled  all  his  intellectual  forces  ; 

Some  hundreds  heard  him,  and  when  he  was  through, 

The  chap  resumed  his  game,  and  he  withdrew. 

His  ears  were  greeted,  ere  he  reached  the  door, 

With  words  whose  like  he  never  heard  before : 

"  Come  down  !  Come  down !  roll  up  here  one  and  all  ; 

Ready  to  size  your  pile  !  bets  large  or  small ! 

Who  turns  the  card?  who  wins  the  dollars  shining? 

No  agriculture  here !  this  game  's  like  mining !  " 

Among  the  many  thousands  who  came  here, 
To  make  their  fortunes  in  a  single  year, 
Was  Stubbs  —  six-footer,  with  an  awkward  manner, 
Who  hailed,  'twas  said,  from  Squashtown,  Indiana. 
Upon  the  plains  he  dreamt  about  a  nugget 
So  big,  it  took  just  fourteen  men  to  lug  it ; 
And  waking,  strove  the  treasure  vast  to  seize, 
But  found  it  was  the  moon  behind  the  trees. 


62  PIKE'S  PEAKERS  OF  '59. 

Stubbs   sought  the   Gregory  mines.     Says    he,    "The 

deuce ! 

These  miners  call  a  water-trough  a  sluice ; 
Accordin'  to  the  gineral  talk  and  clamor, 
I  thought  they  chipped    the   chunks    off  with   a  ham 
mer." 

He  worked  one  day,  began  to  have  the  dumps, 
And  threw  the  dust  aside,  in  search  for  lumps. 
Folks  cursed  the  region,  and  he  took  th'  alarm, 
Thought  he'd  go  back  and  settle  on  a  farm  ! 
So  back  he  goes  ;  once  more  upon  the  plains,  • 

Folks  crowd  around  him,  ask  about  his  gains  ; 
He  told  them  all,  that  he  and  his  friend  Usher, 
Were  going  to  the  States  to  get  a  Crusher!" 

There  is  a  legend  weird  and  strange, 

About  a  golden  peak ; 
And  where  it  rose,  or  in  what  range, 

I  cannot  fully  speak. 
But  this  I  know,  in  "  Fifty-nine  " 

The  story  oft  was  told, 
How  early  settlers  used  to  mine 

This  solid  mass  of  gold. 

They  built  a  mighty  curious  craft, 

It  rather  kind  o'  got  'em  ; 
'Twas  fashioned  something  like  a  raft, 

With  iron  rasps  on  bottom. 
'Twas  hoisted  to  the  mountain  top, 

A  chap  got  on  to  steer  it, 
And  then  they  kind  o'  let  'er  drop, 

Or  something  very  near  it. 


PIKE'S  PEAKERS  OF  '59.  63 

Away  it  went  like  all  possessed, 

Folks  had  to  stand  from  under, 
For  ten  miles  round,  the  miners  guessed 

It  was  a  clap  of  thunder  ! 
O  !  it  made  such  a  frightful  din 

They  wished  they  had  not  loosed  it; 
Not  all  the  graters  made  of  tin, 

Together  had  produced  it. 

The  chap  who  rode  this  strange  machine, 

Thought  nothing  sure  could  knock  it. 
(A  charge  of  nitro-glycerine 

I  guess  would  slightly  rock  it ; 
But  then  this  was  before  the  world 

Had  learned  to  fear  the  "critter.") 
The  golden  shavings  round  him  curled, 

And  covered  him  with  litter. 

He  glanced  behind,  and  then  gave  one 

Unearthly  shriek  of  laughtei, 
For  golden  shavings  by  the  ton 

Were  swiftly  following  after. 
And  yet  this  chap  was  not  afraid, 

He  wore  a  placid  smile ; 
He  went  ahead  of  what  he  made, 

And  yet  he  made  his  pile  ! 


THE  TURKEY  WAR. 

A   TALE   OF    TURKEYS NOT   A    TURKISH   TALE. 

A   CLEAN    RECORD  OF  A   FOWL  AFFAIR. 

Served  up  with  such  a  variety  of  spicy  ingredients  that  no 
"  stuffing  "  was  deemed  necessary. 

INVO-CA-SHUN. 

THE  Muse  is  meant  when  on  the  Nine  we  dwell ; 

There  is  a-muse-ment  in  nme-p'ms  as  well, 

Or  any  other  nine  you  choose  to  mention, 

Especially  a  femi-nine  convention  ! 

The  cat  o'  nine  tails  is  a  perfect  whaler : 

Attest,  the  back  of  an  unruly  sailor! 

Nine  tails  with  but  a  single  cat, 

Nine  tails  that  beat  as  one ! 

Against  the  canine  since  objections  weigh, 

Descend  ye  Nine,  the  Nine  without  the  ca ! 

An  invo-ca-shun  without  more  ado, 

As  good  's  the  average,  and  about  as  true. 


"The  Turkey  War!  the  expression's  lame, 
I  don't  dispute  the  fowls  are  game, 
But  give  your  theme  more  fitting  name, 
And  say  at  once  —  The  War  in  Turkey  !  " 
'Tis  not  the  Turks  I'm  poetizing, 
That  you  mistake  is  not  surprising; 


THE    TURKEY   WAR.  65 

The  (Y)  East's  mixed  up  with  many  a  rising ! 
Though  powder  's  harmless  when  from  Durkee ! 

You  shouldn't  show  so  much  conceit ; 
The  Turkey  War,  I  here  repeat, 
Although  it  shows  no  brilliant  feat, 

No  subtle  stratagem  discloses, 
Was  quite  a  marvel  in  its  way : 
A  speck  of  war,  a  bloodless  fray, 
Sweet-scented  muss  —  old  settlers  say  — 

Although  it  was  no  War  of  Roses. 

A  load  of  turkeys,  think  of  that ! 
In  splendid  order,  nice  and  fat ; 
To  Denver  came,  not  up  the  Platte, 

The  usual  route  supplies  were  brought, 
But  from  the  settlements  below, 
The  Arkansas  or  Huerfano.9 
Perchance  the  latter  (guess  that  's  so !) 

Because  they  caused  a  war  for  naught! 

Indeed  it  was  a  luscious  cargo, 

On  which  the  "  bummers  " 10  laid  embargo, 

And  such  a  one  as  ne'er  Wells,  Fargo  — 

Within  their  "caravans"11  have  stowed. 
While  those  who  gazed  with  longing  eyes, 
Were  filled  with  wonder  and  surprise, 
And  some  with  turkeys,  I  surmise, 

Who  had  no  claim  upon  the  load! 

The  owner  was  beguiled  away, 
By  fellows  who  seemed  mighty  gay, 
And  round  the  city  he  did  stray, 
5 


66  THE   TURKEY   WAR. 

A  seeing  sights  and  drinking  cobblers. 
When  to  his  wagon  he  returned, 
Exclaiming  as  his  loss  he  learned  — 
"  Was  it  for  this  '  freeze  out '  I  spurned, 

To  lose  by  roast-irt  all  my  gobblers  ? " 

A  species  of  another  kind 

Of  gobbler  than  he  left  behind, 

More  taking  in  their  ways,  you'll  find, 

Had  taken  off  all  they  could  lug ; 
The  meeting  seemed  to  each  beholder, 
Like  that  of  Greeks,  though  centuries  older, 
Since  one's  best  hold  was,  from  the  shoulder ! 

Of  course  'twas  followed  by  a  tug ! 

In  Denver  as  in  Denmark,  there 
Was  something  rotten,  folks  declare  ; 
To  put  the  matter  fair  and  square, 

The  thieves  had  got  a  Den  in  each ! 
No  use  to  try  to  save  your  bacon ; 
If  left  within  their  reach  —  'twas  taken  ! 
E'en  terra  firma  might  awaken 

Some  keen  regrets  —  if  out  of  reach  ! 

No  hanging  out  of  clothes  to  dry, 
For  fear  some  rascal  prowling  nigh ; 
Might  take  occasion  on  the  sly, 

To  make  a  raid  along  the  line  ! 
Upon  retiring,  it  is  said, 
Men  placed  their  boots  beneath  their  head, 
And  wore  their  clothes  through  wholesome  dread 

They'd  take  each  stitch  —  and  ne'er  save  nine  ! 


THE    TURKEY    WAR.  67 

So  when  the  people  heard  the  tale, 
They  vowed  at  once  they  would  assail 
The  turkey  gobblers  without  fail ; 

The  human  bipeds,  not  the  feathered  ! 
To  spit  their  vengeance  on  that  class 
Who  were  already  spitted,  were  a  farce  ! 
To  make  no  bones  of  those,  alas  ! 

Whose  flesh  had  been  already  gathered  ! 

Proceedings  were  at  once  devised, 
Of  which  the  rascals  were  apprised. 
Although  they  were  somewhat  surprised 

At  what  they  termed  the  best  of  jokes, 
They  swore  they'd  fight  it  out,  by  thunder  ! 
At  their  abuse  I  cannot  wonder ; 
Since  turkey  they  had  rent  asunder, 

They'd  naught  to  fear  in-sultan  folks. 

Perchance  those  who  the  mischief  planned 
Ate  half- cleaned  gizzards,  and  the  band 
Determined  thus  to  make  a  stand 

Whilst  they  were  feeling  full  of  grit ! 
So,  in  the  face  of  quiet  folk 
A  loaded  pistol  they  would  poke ; 
A  very  pleasant  sort  of  joke, 

Though  rather  pointed,  I  admit. 

Parading  through  the  crowded  street, 
Denouncing  those  they  chanced  to  meet, 
Their  list  of  crimes  had  been  complete, 

Had  they  not  missed  their  murderous  aim  ! 
They  swore  revenge,  and  made  a  threat 
To  burn  the  town  of  Denver  yet, 


68  THE    TURKEY    WAR. 

Before  another  sun  should  set  — 

Which  would  have  been  a  burning  shame! 

Though  cackling  geese  saved  ancient  Rome, 

According  to  historic  tome, 

If  "sound  upon  the  goose"  their  home 

Was  doubly  threatened  with  a  crash. 
What  if  they  were  consigned  to  fame, 
Through  circumstances  much  the  same, 
And  coming  ages  should  exclaim  — 

"  'Twas  Turkeys  settled  Denver's  hash !  " 

Forth  came  the  brave,  undaunted  Rangers, 

To  calm  the  fears  of  timid  strangers  ; 

To  guard  the  town  from  threatened  dangers, 

Until  the  rising  of  the  sun. 
As  into  patrols  they  divided, 
Disturbances  at  once  subsided  : 
To  run  no  risk,  the  rogues  decided  ; 

Of  course  there  was  no  risk  —  to  run. 

Next  day  the  citizens  agreed, 

Three  perpetrators  of  the  deed 

Must  leave  the  town ;  by  taking  heed, 

A  throat  affection  's  stopped  in  time. 
From  trick  to  trick,  through  Fate's  decree, 
The  Climb- Act's  reached  at  last,  you  see, 
When  they  must  either  "climb  a  tree," 

Or  seek  a  more  congenial  clime  1 

The  rogues  obeyed  the  people's  fiat, 
The  town  resumed  its  wonted  quiet, 
But  still  we  suffer  from  that  riot 

Which  years  ago  the  settlers  quelled. 


THE   TURKEY   WAR.  69 

The  turkeys  scarce,  and  awful  dear, 
By  twos  and  threes  arriving  here  ; 
Because  somehow  the  farmers  fear, 
A  load  at  once — would  be  corrakd. 

There's  nothing  in  the  sobriquet, 
By  which  we  designate  th'  affray, 
To  keep  you  farming  chaps  away; 

Then  let  your  idle  fancies  cease. 
Bring  on  your  turkeys,  I  insist: 
Temptation  's  great,  but  we'll  resist ; 
A  Turkey  War  can  ne'er  exist, 

When  all  are  anxious  for  a  piece. 


SHOVELS    AND     PICKS  ;    OR,    THE    MODEL 
SUPERINTENDENT. 

TO  Colorado  once  there  came 
A  handsome  young  New  Yorker, 
Charles  Noble  Codfish  (scaly  name), 

Dundreary  style  of  talker ; 
Got  up  "  regardless  of  expense," 

His  head  a  mass  of  curls  ; 
With  just  that  lack  of  common  sense 
So  pleasing  to  the  girls. 

To  superintend  a  mine  he  came : 

His  Company  was  rich, 
And  honored  drafts  that  bore  his  name, 

Without  the  slightest  hitch. 
Yet  not  one  fact  the  fellow  knew 

About  the  mining  region. 
Guess  those  of  which  the  same  is  true 

Would  number  quite  a  legion. 

His  mining  dialect,  behold, 

How  sadly  'twas  neglected  ; 
With  "  lodes  "  of  cabbages  or  gold 

His  "  shafts  "  were  all  connected. 
He'd  heard  of  "  range  "  —  the  cooking  kind  ; 

Thought  "  ores  "  to  boats  applied  ; 


SHOVELS    AND    PICKS.  7  I 

While  "  vein "  was  something  to  his  mind 
Indicative  of  pride. 

He  had  a  duty  to  fulfill, 

And  so  he  set  about  it : 
He  built  a  most  expensive  mill  — 

How  could  they  do  without  it  ? 
When  everything  was  a  la  mode, 

He  made  a  trial  run  ; 
The  ore  was  from  their  richest  lode, 

There  must  have  been  a  ton. 

Fire  up,  fire  up  !  the  whistle  blows ; 

The  clattering  wheels  revolve  ; 
Thump,   thump !    thump,   thump !    such   stamps 
as  those 

The  mystery  soon  will  solve. 
A  strange  result  doth  he  behold, 

With  courage  let  him  brave  it ; 
For  though  the  ore  were  two  thirds  gold, 

That  mill  could  never  save  it. 

He  went  upon  the  biggest  sprees, 

And  in  the  lowest  hovels  ; 
Disbursements  made  at  times  like  these, 

Were  classified  as  "  shovels  !  " 
Such  transformations  he  produced, 

By  certain  clever  tricks, 
That  pick-adilloes  were  reduced 

Till  they  were  only  "picks." 

The  festive  youths  of  Central  City 
Declared  he  was  a  "  cuss  ; " 


72  SHOVELS   AND    PICKS. 

Cards,  billiards,  liquor  —  what  a  pity 

To  squander  money  thus. 
The  way  in  which  the  chap  evades 

His  losses,  beats  the  dickens  i 
While  "shovels"  shield  unlucky  "spades," 

The  "picks"  protect  the  "pickings." 

He  sent  his  statements  to  the  East 

In  most  elaborate  shape  ; 
A  quire  of  foolscap  at  the  least, 

With  eyelets  and  red  tape. 
The  writing  was  like  copper-plate, 

With  no  unseemly  blot ; 
The  fs  were  crossed  as  sure  as  fate, 

The  fs  had  each  a  dot. 

The  smallest  item  there  appeared, 

Not  e'en  a  date  omitted; 
Discrepancies  he  never  feared, 

For  everything  was  fitted. 
What  quantities  of  "  picks  "  he  used, 

According  to  the  statement ! 
While  "  shovel "  items  you  perused, 

Alas,  without  abatement. 

Why  thus  with  repetition  mar, 

And  like  a  fool  express  it  ? 
When  —  stealings  spent  at  many  a  bar, 

As  Bar  Steel  who  could  guess  it  ? 
Was  ever  knave  before  so  silly! 

His  wits  he  should  be  rallying  \ 
You'd  never  find  in  Pic-cadilly, 

Such  "  pick  "  a  dilly-dallying. 


SHOVELS   AND   PICKS.  73 

Before  directors  they  were  laid, 

And  carefully  inspected ; 
For  months  the  scrutiny  they  made, 

No  sign  of  fraud  detected. 
At  last,  of  shovels  and  of  picks 

They  heard  such  frequent  mention, 
Affairs  in  this  //Vv£-uliar  fix, 

Demanded  some  attention. 

The  matter  seemed  so  very  strange, 

That  they  began  to  doubt 
If  rocks  upon  the  mountain-range 

Could  really  wear  them  out. 
Some  said  he  was  a  "thieving  pup," 

The  veriest  of  fools  ; 
In  view  of  such  a  "  using  up," 

They  wouldn't  be  his  tools  ! 

Of  details  in  regard  to  drifting, 

They  couldn't  see  the  drift ; 
The  old  machinery  he  was  shifting, 

And  with  it  —  he  must  shift ! 
Though  "  blow-outs  "  and  volcanic  shocks 

Might  indicate  a  lode, 
Ere  they  for  "blow-outs"  furnish  "rocks," 

They  swear  they'll  see  him  blowed ! 

To  be  "  picked  up  "  by  such  a  "  cuss," 

To  be  deceived  and  tricked  ; 
To  "shove  out"  cash  for  shovels  thus, 

To  have  their  pockets  picked  I 
No  wonder  then  they  raved  and  swore, 

No  wonder  they  abhor  him  ; 


74  SHOVELS   AND    PICKS. 

Of  course,  since  they  had  picked  a  flaw, 
The  picks  were  bound  to  floor  him  ! 

Now  wasn't  this  a  pretty  pick-It  ? 

And  yet  this  handsome  knave, 
With  all  his  stealings,  not  a  nickel 

Or  /zVv£-ayune  doth  save. 
With  blasted  hopes  and  blemished  fame, 

Young  CODFISH  is  distressed ; 
I'd  recommend  a  change  of  name, 

And  PICK-EREL  suggest ! 

Pray  learn  from  his  disastrous   end, 

The  yawning  gulf  to  shun ; 
And  if  you're  called  to  superintend 

A  mine  for  any  one  ; 
That  none  your  motives  may  impeach, 

Should  you  get  in  a  fix, 
Be  cautious  how  you  close  the  breach 

With  shovels  or  with  picks  ! 


A   QUERY. 

O  TRAITORS,  cease  your  "  Table  Traits  !  " 
"  Smart  folks  eat  mustard,"  you  proclaim 
If  so,  sedate  ones  live  on  dates ; 

That  crabbed  men  eat  crabs,  is  plain , 
The  peevish,  peas,  you  may  avow, 
The  squabbler,  squabs,  that  I'll  allow  • 
But  tell  me,  in  the  name  of  Csesar ! 
If  drinking  tea  will  make  a  teaser  ? 


THE   CHEESE   BOX. 

THE  Monitor,  the  rebels  said, 
Was  nothing  but  a  cheese  box ; 
The  joke  was  "  heavier  nor  lead  "  — 

Her  rival  she  with  ease  knocks. 
Her  shots  went  through  the  Merrimac, 

Their  senses  grew  most  flighty ; 
The  cheese  was  "just  the  cheese,"  in  fact, — 
They  found  it  most  too  mite-y ! 


THE   IN-SPIRED   AUTHOR. 

THE  author,  friends,  of  many  a  pleasing  line, 
May  pine  in  sadness  on  a  floor  of  pine  ; 
In  gory  alleys  write  his  allegories, 
And  in  an  upper  story,  all  his  stories. 
Compose  a  fable  with  af-fable  smile, 
Upon  the  crown  of  what  was  once  a  "  tile ! " 
An  ode,  yet  owed  for  breakfast,  all  the  same, 
And  mends  his  pants,  although  he  pants  for  fame ! 
Is  minus  bootjack,  so,  by  Ajax  swears  ; 
Takes  flights  of  fancy  up  four  flights  of  stairs. 
Invokes  the  Muse  (mews) ;  result  is  most  appalling, 
On  yonder  wall,  the  cats  keep  caterwauling ! 
If  inspiration  be  the  thing  desired, 
Ascends  some  lofty  spire,  and  gets  in-spired  ! 
Looks  through  the  dingy  pane,  and  is  not  pained ; 
In  fact  it  seems  a  "  Paradise  Regained." 
You  ask,  why  this  impression  he  receives,  — 
Because  he  's  looking  on  so  many  eaves ! 


DECIDEDLY   SHEEPISH! 

T  T  T'HEN  mutton  falls  so  low  in  price, 

VV       That  e'en  the  poor  can  buy  it, 
The  butchers  wear  chop-fallen  looks; 
Will  any  one  deny  it? 


YOUTH  —  DIVESTED   OF   SENTIMENT. 

LIGHT-HEARTED    youth,    the    season    of   rare 
sport, 

With  pleasing  memories  thou  art  ever  fraught ! 
Those  gladsome  days  we  all  remember  well, 
Renowned  for  many  a  joke  and  glorious  sell ; 
When  urchins  roared  to  see  the  vigorous  kicks 
Bestowed  on  hats  profusely  lined  with  bricks  ! 
Delighted  saw  a  miser  downward  spring, 
When  quarters  vanished  by  a  hidden  string  ! 
While  snares  from  lamp-post  to  the  neighboring  wall, 
Took  off  tall  beavers  like  a  sudden  squall ! 
How  fat  men  swore,  who  stooped  upon  the  walk, 
To  pick  up  letters  that  were  made  of  chalk ! 
Or,  in  the  dusky  eve,  dead  rats  propelled 
By  unseen  threads,  the  passer-by  beheld ; 
In  vain  he  raised  aloft  the  ponderous  cane, 
To  strike  the  "  varmint  "  ere  it  reached  the  lane, 
Where  youthful  scamps  in  force  were  wont  to  rally, 
Secluded  precinct  known  as  DEAD  CAT  ALLEY. 


EPIGRAM   ON   GORMANDIZER. 

A  GLORIOUS  vision  swam  before  my  eyes  ; 
I  saw  a  table  groan  beneath  supplies 
Of  oysters,  ices,  jellies,  cakes,  and  pies. 
Says  I,  "What  mortal  man  could  these  devour 
In  half  a  life-time,  were  his  gastric  power 
E'en  like  a  whale  or  mastodon?"     That  hour 
Came  Gormandizer,  sank  into  a  seat 
Before  that  pile,  so  tempting  and  so  sweet ; 
I  looked  —  ye  gods!  the  havoc  was  complete! 


JESTING  AND  DIGESTING. 

WE'RE  no  longer  secure  ;  you  have  seen  through 
otir  cloaks, 

And  discovered  the  secret  of  making  our  jokes. 

You  have  peeped  through  the  keyhole,  when  we  have 
been  drinking 

A  whole  tumbler  of  vinegar,  e'en  without  winking ! 

You  have  guessed  that  our  smartness  was  caused  by 
the  tons 

Of  strong  mustard  consumed  by  the  makers  of  puns  ! 

And  that  all  our  sharp  sayings,  the  pride  of  our  lives, 

Have  resulted  directly  from  razors  and  knives  ! 

Then  to  follow  your  reasoning,  my  friends,  to  its 
source, 

He  who  swallows  a  spoon,  is  a  "  spooney,"  of  course ! 

Yes,  the  secret  is  out,  your  deduction  is  true; 

Let  the  early  reformers  pass  under  review ; 

For  tall  preaching,  pray  learn  what  the  stomach  re 
quires, 

From  the  Protest  they  made  —  at  the  DIET  OF  SPIRES  ! 


ON  THE   DEFENSIVE. 

TO  those  who  plead  for  sober,  serious  thought, 
And  on  us  punsters  wage  their  fierce  onslaught, 
I'd  say  a  word,  —  puns  old  or  new  advance, 
And  with  these  dullards  break  a  friendly  lance. 
Dramatic  men  not  always  take  their  drams, 
Nor  clamorous  men  are  found  to  feed  on  clams  ! 
Lo !  masons  are  not  always  "  perfect  bricks," 
And  lumbermen  are  sometimes  merely  sticks  ! 
E'en  bakers  do  not  show  themselves  well-bred, 
While  wicked  cobblers  harden  soles,  'tis  said. 
Yet  should  a  grocer's  conduct  be  deemed  gross, 
When  jokers  often  are  not  found  jocose  ? 
Do  gamblers  only  ever  "raise  the  deuce?" 
Are  tailors  always  "  sound  upon  the  goose  ? " 
Or,  is  "  sheer  carelessness  "  their  only  feature  ? 
A  stylish  barber,  too,  a  barbarous  creature  ? 
Are  fishermen  a  sort  of  sel-fish  clan  ? 
A  man  of  muscle,  friends,  a  Mussulman  ? 
Confectioners  such  very  candid  men? 
Should  they  be  pensive  who  thus  wield  the  pen? 


VERY   CHAGRINING! 

EACH  jealous  thought  I'll  drive  away, 
Her  love  I'm  sure  of  winning ; 
But  yet,  Sal  grinning  in  a  shay, 
I  vow  is  most  cha-grining! 


IN   FOR   FUN. 

WITH  faces  long  as  any  moral  code, 
View  Fun's  opponents,  who  obstruct  the  road 
To  true  enjoyment,  healthful  sport,  and  glee  ; 
To  whom  a  laugh  's  a  crime  of  high  degree. 
Time  spent  in  pleasure  is  time  lost,  say  they, 
For  "  Time  is  money ; "  "  Better  work  than  play." 
All  right,  my  sober  friends,  but  I'm  afraid 
That  I  can  knock  your  doctrine  in  the  shade ! 
Yes,  "  Time  is  money,"  logic  most  sublime, 
But  then  with  money  can't  we  have  our  time? 
Give  me  good  natured,  jolly  sort  of  folks, 
Whose  ribs  are  tickled  by  sharp-pointed  jokes  ; 
Whose  sides  collapse  with  boisterous,  joyous  mirth; 
Who  think  there's  care  enough  upon  the  earth ; 
That  he's  a  benefactor  to  his  race 
Who  starts  a  smile  upon  a  troubled  face. 
Here's  to  the  chap !  whate'er  his  name  or  station, 
Unknown  or  honored,  of  whatever  nation, 
Who  first  got  up  that  sovereign  cure  for  fidgets  — 
The  human  nose  adorned  with  twirling  digits  ! 
Though  Mrs.  Grundy  'gan  to  storm  and  fret, 
He  stood  unmoved  and  twirled  a  second  set! 
She  tried  to  scowl,  the  effort  was  in  vain ; 
She  bit  her  lips  her  laughter  to  restrain ; 
Convulsively  she  turned  upon  her  heel  — 
Mirth's  thunders  burst  in  one  terrific  peal ! 
Hooks,  eyes,  and  buttons  in  their  onward  flight, 
Had  reached  the  street,  but  for  the  window-light ! 


ON   THE  PROSPECT  OF   A   DRAFT    IN    NEW 
YORK  CITY. 

FIRST,  there  was  Muggins,  who  was  thought  quite 
young, 

His  dashing  style  the  theme  of  every  tongue  ; 
His  fierce  moustache  and  "  fighting  cut "  of  hair 
Was  surely  something  a  la  militaire. 
Such  was  the  braggart  swell  who  daily  quaffed 
From  Pleasure's  brim  ;   and  yet  the  call  to  draft, 
Had  been  in  print  scarce  twenty  hours  at  most, 
Before  our  hero  of  old  age  could  boast ! 
His  stylish  dress  dilapidated  grew, 
False  teeth  were  minus,  and  a  glass  eye  too ; 
Wig  with  "  transparent  parting  "  laid  aside, 
Moustache  and  whiskers  were  no  longer  dyed. 
Thus  nobly  sacrificed  to  war's  alarms 
Not  life,  but  that  which  life-like  seemed  —  his  charms  ! 
Next  there  was  Stout,  and  with  him  many  score 
Who  ate  their  rations,  and  could  soundly  snore ; 
Yet  all  at  once  with  divers  ills  beset, 
Lame,  halt,  and  blind,  mere  skeletons,  you  bet ! 
Humpbacked,  knock-kneed,  consumptive  sort  of  crea 
tures 

(Especially  at  meal  time,  watch  their  features)  1 
O'er  such  a  lengthy  list  we  cannot  linger ; 
Please  note  the  chap  who  lately  lost  a  finger ! 


86      ON   THE   PROSPECT   OF  A   DRAFT   IN   N.  Y.  CITY. 

White  livered  souls  !  about  their  ills  disputing, 
When  their  frail  health  most  sadly  needs  —  recruiting  ! 
Tis  hard,  I  grant,  to  treat  with  due  civility, 
Those  who  enlist  with  GENERAL  DEBILITY. 


ON   HAND! 

A  SOVEREIGN'S  rule  is  something  grand, 
A  teacher's  rather  flat; 
Yet  urchins  who  have  mischief  planned, 
Must  yield  the  palm  to  that ! 

The  wizard's  trick  one  often  views, 

Yet  cannot  understand  ; 
Like  one  who  doth  your  hand  refuse, 

It  's  only  slight  of  hand  ! 

A  man  sees  double  when  he's  tight, 

The  optics  will  expand ; 
As  on  a  watch  (not  late  at  night !) 

You've  seen  a  second  hand ! 

For  beauty's  smiles,  if  you'd  contend, 

You  must  npt  listless  stand  ; 
But  put  your  best  foot  forward,  friend, 

If  you  would  win  her  hand ! 

On  her  bewitching  charms  you  dote, 

Till  you  are  quite  unmanned ; 
A  small  and  tapering  hand  you  note, 

Yet  take  no  note  of  hand ! 


88  ON    HAND  ! 

With  pistol  pointed  at  your  head, 

Your  life  or  cash  demanded, 
You  may  hand  over  every  red  — 

And  yet  it  Js  under-handed ! 

The  laying  on  of  hands  —  a  rite 

Unchristian  men  may  scorn ; 
Yet  like  Macduff,  whene'er  they  fight, 

Their  hands  keep  laying  on ! 

In  steamboat  cabins,  many  a  wreck 

Of  fortune  might  be  told ; 
You  hold  the  best  hand  in  the  deck, 

Worst  deck  hand  's  in  the  hold ! 

If  one  insult  you  without  cause, 

"  Hands  off !  "  he  may  demand  ; 
Take  him  in  hand,  without  a  pause, 

And  polish  him  off-hand ! 

From  hand  to  mouth,  how  folks  abhor  it, 
When  on  life's  shoals  they're  stranded  ; 

Down  in  the  mouth  (and  sometimes  o'er  it!) 
Because  they're  not  fore-handed ! 

I've  shown  my  hand ;  perchance  you've  scanned 

My  feat  —  that  is,  of  punning  : 
Your  fat  friend  writes  a  running  hand, 

Just  try  his  hand  at  running ! 

And  since  my  hand  is  in,  once  more, 
Attention  I  command ; 


ON    HAND !  89 


In  whist  you  take  one  hand  in  four, 
But  never  four  in  hand ! 

I  know  you're  losing  patience  fast, 
At  length  I'm  at  a  stand  j 

The  cobbler's  hand  is  on  his  last, 
My  last  is  still  —  On  Hand! 


THE  MYSTERY   SOLVED. 

WITHIN  a  miner's  cabin  there  were  seated  round 
the  hearth, 
A  group   of  jolly  fellows  who  were   bent  on  fun  and 

mirth ; 
A  talking  o'er  their  prospects  and  a  tossing  off  their 

grog, 
And  spitting  at  the  jet  of  flame  that  flickered  on  the 

log. 
The  ashes  on  the  hearth-stone  lay  some  eighteen  inches 

deep, 
And   called  for  sweeping  censure,  or  a  very  thorough 

sweep  ! 
When  all  at  once   the  owner  rose,  and  going  toward 

the  door, 
He  soon   returned,  and  in  his   hand   an    iron   rod   he 

bore; 
And   straightway  to   the   hearth  he  went,  and   in    the 

pile  of  ashes, 

Began  to  make,  what  you  would  call,  some  very  fran 
tic  passes ! 
And  much  they  wondered,  why  within  the  flaky  depths 

he  sounded, 
Until    at   last    a  voice    exclaimed,   "  Confusion  worse 

confounded ; 


THE   MYSTERY   SOLVED.  91 

You    must   be    drunk    or    crazy,   Bill,   what    are   you 

doing,  man  ? " 

"Why,  don't   you   see,  you   stupid   fool,  I've  lost  my 
frying-pan  /  " 


A   DUBIOUS   COMMAND. 

AN    Irish    superintendent,     he     at    whom    you've 
often  laughed, 
Was  standing  near  the  opening  of  a  deep  and  gloomy 

shaft, 
And  leaning  o'er  the  windlass,  soon  he  yelled  to  those 

below  : 
"  How  many  of  yees  down  there,  b'ys,  that 's  what  I'd 

like  to  know  ?  " 
"  There  's  five  o'  us,  yer  honor,  since  O'Brien  's  gone 

to  sup." 
Then  spake  this  son  of  Erin,   "Let  the  half   o'  yees 

come  up!" 


QUIPS,    QUIRKS,    AND    QUIBBLES. 


WONDERFUL ! 

ON  Franklin  Square  young  Tommy  you'll  descry, 
A  hawking  papers  to  the  passers-by. 
I've  read  of  Progress,  things  most  strange  and  rare, 
But  ne'er  of  Tommy  hawking  "  on  the  square ! " 


DOGMATICAL   DOGGEREL. 

THE  Mayor  proclaims  that  curs  must 'die, 

The  act  is  justly  praised, 
For  when  the  ma's  of  dogs  are  slain, 

New  dog-mas  won't  be  raised  ! 


THE   REMEDY! 

WHEN  dogs  set  up  an  awful  howl, 
Cane  nine  of  canines  vicious, 

No  sorry  cur  with  cur-sory  looks, 
Of  peace  will  dare  to  dish  us ! 


94  QUIPS,  QUIRKS,   AND   QUIBBLES. 


A  STRANGE  EPITAPH. 

A  STRANGE  epitaph,  in  this  you'll  agree, 
"  Here  lies  D.  C.  Fellow,  a  felo  de  se." 


A  PLEASANT  PREDICAMENT! 

DIDST  ever  fall  upon  the  crowded  pave 
Flat  on  thy  back,  and  not  desire  to  rave  ? 
'Midst  peals  of  laughter,  curse  the  orange-peel  ; 
And  while  folks  grin,  O !  how  chagrined  you  feel ! 


THE    GREATER    THE    CRIME    THE    LESSER 
THE   OFFENSE. 

AN    EPIGRAM. 

THE  man  who  steals  a  dollar,  folks  assail, 
And  cry,    "A  thief!  Consign  the  wretch  to  jail!" 
But  if  a  million  —  in  such  light  'tis  viewed, 
A  man  's  not  censured,  but  considered  shrewd  ! 


EDIFICATION. 

THE  mother  views  her  darling  boy  with  pride  : 
When  Eddy  says,  O  fie,   she  's  edi-fied  ! 


QUIPS,   QUIRKS,    AND    QUIBBLES.  95 


EXTREME  TENSION. 

WHEN  ten  avoid  a  danger,  ten  shun  ill; 

A  muscle  stretched,  is  called  a  tension,  Bill : 

When  minds  are  fixed,  it  is  attention  still ! 


ONE   POINT   IN   COMMON! 

THOUGH   distinctions   'twixt   topers   and  Hindoos   are 

wide, 
On  the  jug  or  not  question  they're  surely  allied ! 


PERTINENT. 

ANNIE  writes  versions  of  such  poems  as  Homer's, 
Our  ani-mad-versions  are  not  misnomers ! 


THE   SKELETON   IN  AN  AMOUR. 

HOW  Art  contrives  to  conjure  up 
From  Nature's  odds  and  ends, 
Such  sudden  metamorphoses, 
One  scarcely  comprehends. 
With  Man  she  takes  but  little  pains, 

And  works  with  half  a  will ; 
But  gaze  on  Woman  if  you'd  see 
The  triumphs  of  her  skill. 

Behold  the  ground-work  of  her  plan,  — 

A  shattered  human  frame, 
A  skeleton  with  parchment  skin 

Drawn  tightly  o'er  the  same  ; 
With  toothless  jaws  and  sunken  cheeks, 

A  bald  and  shining  pate; 
No  seeming  trace  of  brow  or  lash, 

The  eye  hath  lost  its  mate  ! 

Upon  the  head  she  claps  a  wig 

Of  most  luxuriant  hair  ; 
At  such  a  massive  "waterfall," 

O,  won't  the  people  stare ! 
Be  not  too  curious,  or  you'll  find 

Its  contents  rather  shocking: 
Within  the  depths,  a  chemisette 

Enveloped  in  a  stocking ! 


THE    SKELETON    IN    AN    AMOUR.  97 

From  out  the  vacant  orbit,  soon 

An  eye  of  glass  is  staring ! 
The  artificial  and  the  real 

A  close  resemblance  bearing. 
The  mouth  receives  a  set  of  teeth, 

With  plumpers  for  the  cheeks, 
To  fill  those  sunken  features  out  — 

One  of  her  clever  freaks. 

With  "  arching  brow  "  and  "  drooping  lash," 

The  lack  of  each  supplies ; 
Upon  the  natural  eye  she  pours 

" BlanquJs  Lustre  for  The  Eyes" 
Thin  layers  of  cosmetic  paste 

The  wrinkles  are  entombing; 
The  visage,  thanks  to  chalk  and  rouge, 

Grows  beautiful  and  blooming. 

Upon  the  flat,  consumptive  chest, 

She  placed  her  "  patent  heavers," 
Those  "  fixings  "  made  to  palpitate 

With  secret  springs  and  levers ! 
And  when  the  stays  were  tightly  laced, 

Jove  !  what  a  form  they  made  ! 
These  cannot  be  "  degenerate  days  " 

When  women  are  so  stay-ed ! 

Unto  the  shrunken  nether  limbs, 

"  False  calves  "  are  next  applied, 
So  perfect  is  each  artifice 

Deficiencies  to  hide ! 
Word-limb-ners  should  be  careful  what 

They  venture  to  repeat; 


98  THE   SKELETON    IN   AN   AMOUR. 

Enough,  the  crowning  work  of  Art 
Stands  finished  and  complete. 

When  costly  silks  and  finery, 

Had  decked  the  graceful  form, 
The  way  she  '•  piled  on  agony," 

Took  all  the  world  by  storm! 
The  gay  gallants  around  her  thronged, 

O'envhelmed  her  with  attention ; 
She  was  the  emy  of  the  belles, 

Of  beaux,  the  sole  contention. 

With  poetry  and  sentiment, 

Most  feelingly  expressed, 
A  wealthy  young  aristocrat 

Soon  distanced  all  the  rest. 
Twas  after  such  an  interview, 

When  on  the  point  of  leaving ; 
O,  how  she  glowed  with  passion's  warmth! 

O,  how  her  breast  was  heaving ! 

How  pleasing  to  a  lover's  eyes, 

Emotion  such  as  this ! 
So  he  declared  his  sentiments, 

And  softly  stole  a  kiss. 
But  hardly  had  th'  enraptured  youth 

The  question  fairly  popped, 
Before  those  strange  contrivances, 

The  deuced  "heavers,"  stopped! 

She  was  completely  thunder-struck, 
And  lost  her  self-command ; 

He  caught  a  glimpse  of  something  like 
A  cord  within  her  hand ; 


THE    SKELETON    IN   AN   AMOUR.  99 

And  though  she  pulled  with  might  and  main, 

The  "  fixings  "  wouldn't  work, 
In  utter  desperation,  then, 

She  gave  an  awful  jerk! 

When,  lo  !   the  whole  contrivance  burst 

With  a  tremendous  shock ! 
'Twas  like  the  springs  and  wheels  let  loose 

Within  an  eight-day  clock: 
With  rattlesnake  accompaniment, 

Solos  by  swarming  bees, 
A  coffee-mill  attachment,  and 

A  jingling  bunch  of  keys  ! 

He  thrust  his  fingers  in  his  ears, 

To  stop  the  frightful  din, 
He  seized  his  hat  and  rang  the  bell 

To  call  the  servants  in. 
And  ever  since,  society 

Has  laid  her  on  the  shelf; 
She  cannot  say  they  slandered  her, 

For  she  run  down  herself! 


PRICES   CURRENT. 

A  PUNSTER'S  REVERY. 

A  PRICES  CURRENT  is  one  thing, 
The  Price  of  Currants  quite  another; 
The  points  I  make,  affecting  one, 

Don't  touch  on  "  pints  "  outside  the  other ! 

In  Indigo,  it's  awful  "blue," 

Inquiry  almost  ceasing  ; 
In  Leather,  but  few  lots  were  "sole-d," 

In  Wool,  the  usual  "  fleecing !  " 

In  Lime,  the  trade  don't  seem  to  "slack," 

In  Nails,  it 's  always  "  driving  ;  " 
All  kinds  of  Spirits  "going  down," 

The  "  holders  "  past  reviving  ! 

In  Flour,  they're  looking  for  a  "  rise  " 

Upon  an  (y)eastern  lot ! 
Though  Beans  last  week  were  bought  on  "spec," 

This  week  they've  "  gone  to  pot !  " 

To  glance  at  Hops,  the  "  figures  "  show 

Some  "  close  transactions  "  doing  ; 
From  "  lively  movements  "  now  "  on  foot," 

There  's  surely  something  "  brewing !  " 


PRICES    CURRENT.  IOI 

Fruit  seems  to  be  a  "  raisin'  "  now, 
Last  week  'twern't  worth  a  "  fig !  " 

So  "go  in  lemons,"  margin,  friends 
Or*-range-is  mighty  big  ! 

Tea  not  so  "  steep,"  'tis  growing  "  weak," 
Though  Butter 's  deuced  "  strong  !  " 

Oil  Market  "light,"  Lead  "heavy"  yet, 
Cheese  "  moving  "  right  along  ! 

No  doubt  it  goes  "  against  the  grain" 
When  Corn  and  Wheat  are  "  flat !  " 

Since  Oats  are  quoted  in  demand, 
We'll  make  a  note  of  that ! 

With  Lumber  you  shall  not  be  "bored," 

By  e'en  the  faintest  rumor ; 
"  Plank  "  down  the  cash,  with  what  a  smile 
The  dealer  greets  consumer  ! 

Against  short  dresses  Dry  Goods  men 

Invoke  a  fierce  tirade  ; 
While  Hosiery  dealers  quietly 

Increase  their  "  stock-in '  "  trade  ! 

Though  Hemp  holds  dealers  in  "suspense," 

'Tis  not  a  hanging  matter ! 
Since  Powder  is  a  "brightening  up," 

Don't  hesitate,  but  scatter  ! 


SERIOUS    AND    OCCASIONAL    PIECES. 


SHADES   AND   GLEAMS. 

WHEN  the  weary  are  fainting  'neath  burdens  of 
life, 

And  their  faces  are  wrinkled  with  care ; 
When  the  bravest  are  falling  in  conflict  and  strife, 

And  the  dying  are  murmuring  a  prayer  ; 
When    misfortune   has    crushed  all   the    hopes    of   the 

young, 

And  the  aged  are  cursing  their  days ; 
When  the  wail  of  despair  through  the  hovel  has  rung, 

And  the  king  in  his  palace  Death  slays  j 
When  disease  like  a  vulture  has  fastened  its  fangs, 

And  the  victim  is  writhing  in  pain ; 
From  the  belfry  of  Fate  now  an  iron  tongue  twangs, 
And  we're  sighing :  "  All  things  are  in  vain." 

Not  in  vain  !  not  in  vain  are  our  toils  and  restraints, 

Not  in  vain  all  our  struggles  for  right ; 
Though    dark    shadings    appear    on    the    picture    life 
paints, 

Yet  the  shades  on  the  blessings  throw  light. 
There  are  bright  silver  linings  to  clouds  as  they  rise, 

Though  they  shadow  the  heart  with  their  wings ; 
And  how  soothing  when  Anguish  is  uttering  her  cries, 

The  soft  music  which  Hope  sweetly  sings. 
Though  the   mysteries  of  life   are  concealed  from  our 
gaze, 


106  SHADES   AND    GLEAMS. 

And  of  truth  we  are  ever  in  quest, 
We    shall    know  —  when    immortals   proclaiming    His 

praise, 
Bear  us  upward  to  mansions  of  rest. 


COLUMBUS. 

A    LECTURE-POEM. 

AS  Clio  bids  the  historic  vision  rise, 
Lo !  ancient  Palos  stands  before  your  eyes. 
The  silvery  mist  with  vapor-wings  outspread, 
That  late  hung  hovering  o'er  its  walls,  has  fled. 
The  crimson  blushes  of  the  clouds  betray 
The  wooing  glances  of  the  king  of  day. 
The  restless  sea,  pursued  with  searching  eye, 
Eludes  our  gaze  and  merges  in  the  sky ; 
While  murmuring  near,  by  gentler  breezes  fanned, 
The  sparkling  wavelets  kiss  the  pebbly  strand. 

Gaze  there  ;  O  sight  unequaled  e'er  before  ! 

For  thousands  darken,  thousands  throng  that  shore; 

Expectant  each,  most  anxious  to  behold 

The  man  whose  brilliant  genius  did  unfold 

That  glorious  project,  which  proclaims  the  hour 

When  Truth  asserts  the  grandeur  of  her  power, 

And  baffles  now  her  most  insidious  foes, 

Whose  base  intrigues  her  destined  ends  oppose. 

The  hour  is  laden  with  this  project  grand  — 

Behold,  Columbus  seeks  an  unknown  land ! 

A  deathly  pallor  overspreads  the  face. 

As  parting,  friend  clasps  friend  in  fond  embrace, 


I08  COLUMBUS. 

Then  hurries  off  to  join  that  pensive  band ; 
And  soon  three  little  ships  set  sail  from  land. 
O  !  what  emotion  throbs  those  hearts  on  shore, 
For  that  brave  band  may  never  greet  them  more. 
Mark  the  fond  gaze,  affection's  blurring  tear, 
As  their  loved  friends,  receding,  disappear. 
Tis  o'er ;  their  hearts  this  inward  prayer  express, 
That  Heaven  will  crown  the  effort  with  success. 

Full  oft  a  seaward  glance  their  steps  delay, 

While  slowly  sauntering  on  their  homeward  way ; 

As  days  elapse,  the  project  rashly  deem 

A  vain  conjecture,  or  an  idle  dream. 

While  Gossip  shakes  her  head,  and  says  'tis  plain, 

They'll  come  to  nought  or  sink  beneath  the  main. 

The  chain  of  Progress  —  little  did  they  think, 

Was  wanting  yet  this  one  connecting  link, 

Forged  on  the  anvil  of  Columbus'  mind  ; 

And  lengthened  thus  —  another  world  would  bind. 

Long  years  had  passed,  and  faint  success  had  brought, 
Since  he  conceived  that  great  and  mighty  thought : 
Since  to  the  taunting  multitude,  he  hurled 
His  vast  conception  of  an  unknown  world. 
Spurned  as  a  madman,  shunned  on  every  hand, 
None,  none  would  listen  to  his  project  grand. 
With  vacant  look  he  paced  the  crowded  street, 
Nor  saw  the  smile  of  scorn  with  which  men  greet 
Him,  who  will  yet  outlive  their  pomp  and  pride, 
And  win  from  future  years  a  fame  world-wide. 

Before  the  courts  of  kings  he  oft  displayed 

His  well-formed  plans,  with  earnest  pleas  for  aid. 


COLUMBUS.  ICQ 

The  rays  of  hope  resplendent  now  appear, 
Anon,  the  darkest  clouds  of  doubt  and  fear. 
Delays  may  harass,  anxious  cares  annoy, 
Reward  of  his  long  toil  —  a  life's  employ ; 
Yet  undismayed,  undaunted,  he  pursued 
His  mighty  thought,  with  effort  still  renewed  ; 
With  touching  eloquence,  with  fervent  zeal, 
To  kings  and  nobles  made  his  great  appeal. 

Youth,  manhood  spent  —  perplexed  from  day  to  day, 
While  Care's  pale  hands  entwined  his  hair  with  gray. 
O,  what  a  life  was  wasting  on  this  thought  ! 
See  Genius  doomed  a  fickle  monarch's  sport  ! 
Prolonged  suspense  had  nearly  crazed  his  brain  ; 
Men  called  him  fool,  repulsed  him  with  disdain. 
From  home  .and  kindred,  all  that  man  holds  dear, 
He  turns  at  length  with  many  a  bitter  tear, 
To  seek  from  strangers  what  his  king  denies, 
And  at  their  feet  bestow  the  glorious  prize. 

Success  at  length  the  waning  cause  attends, 
The  queen  herself  the  generous  aid  extends ; 
Her  jewels  — precious  to  a  woman's  eyes, 
Pledged  to  his  cause  —  Truth's  noble  sacrifice ! 
Her  couriers  speed  to  bid  him  swift  return, 
His  own  loved  country  shall  no  longer  spurn. 
One  flashing  glance  from  eyes  divinely  bright, 
Hath    saved    the    cause    and    checked    the  wanderer's 

flight. 

In  vain  to  Europe's  kings  doth  Genius  bend  — 
A  queen,  a  woman,  proves  his  only  friend ! 

This  glad  success  o'ertakes  him  on  his  way 
To  other  lands,  and  thus  his  steps  delay. 


110  COLUMBUS. 

Faint  hope  revives  —  once  more  he  feels  that  thrill 

Shoot  through  his  frame  and  banish  boding  ill. 

The  Past  forgotten  —  its  dark  clouds  float  by, 

Bright  halos  gather  in  the  Future's  sky; 

A  smile  flits  o'er  those  deepened  lines  of  care, 

As  to  the  court  his  hastening  steps  repair. 

His  queen  befriends  him  ;  nought  can  now  restrain ; 

His  path  lies  onward  o'er  the  trackless  main. 

Again  doth  Fancy  hold  before  the  eye 

Her  bright,  pellucid  glass,  through  which  descry 

Those  little  ships  where  dangers  dread  appall, 

And  liquid  mountains  ever  rise  and  fall. 

And  tossing  thus  upon  the  treacherous  deep, 

Pale  Fright  draws  near,  life's  currents  feebly  creep, 

An  icy  pressure  gathers  round  the  heart, 

And  nameless  terrors  into  being  start. 

View  sturdy  sailors,  strangers  to  all  fear  — 

Pale  is  the  cheek,  the  eye  betrays  a  tear. 

Thus  fades  their  hope  as  fades  away  the  land, 
And  dire  confusion  spreads  among  the  band  ; 
But  brave  Columbus  cheers  each  troubled  mind 
With  glowing  tales  of  lands  he  hopes  to  find ; 
Conceals  the  reckoning  from  their  startled  eyes, 
And  of  the  truant  compass  talks  most  wise. 
In  present  murmurs,  plainly  he  foresees 
The  rising  tempest  in  the  fluttering  breeze. 
Hear  how  he  reasons  in  that  threatening  hour, 
To  stay  the  storm  increasing  in  its  power. 

Onward  they  sail,  while  Nature  strews  the  way 
With  products  rare,  to  light  the  dying  ray 


COLUMBUS.  1 1 1 

Of  hope  ;  while  from  the  sea  bright  isles  arise, 
Whose  distant  splendors  charm  their  eager  eyes. 
As  they  advance,  these  vanish  from  their  sight, 
Creations  of  the  mind,  alas !  too  bright ; 
Wrought  from  the   snowy  clouds,  bedecked  with  gold, 
Where  sun-tints  bright  illumed  the  fleecy  fold. 
The  chords  from  which  such  thrilling  rapture  rung, 
By  Disappointment  touched  —  are  all  unstrung. 

The  ocean's  vast  expanse  before  them  lies, 
Unknown,  unbounded  save  by  arching  skies ; 
And  danger  thus  attendant,  always  near, 
Inspired  the  sailors  with  a  frantic  fear. 
Old  superstitions  in  that  trying  hour, 
Throng  back  to  haunt  them  with  redoubled  power. 
Half  trembling  lest  some  fabled  monster  rise, 
Ope  his  wide  jaws,  and  flash  his  fiery  eyes, 
Awe-struck  they  gaze ;  some  utter  threats  most  base 
While  secret  schemings  lurk  in  every  face. 

Murmurs  increase,  dissatisfaction  grew, 

Till  foul  rebellion  spread  among  the  crew. 

Swarming  the  deck  the  mutineers  rebel, 

Columbus  seek  and  would  by  force  compel. 

He  urged  anew  that  land  would  soon  be  found, 

With  grand  results  their  efforts  would  be  crowned. 

Then  bravely  said :    "  Calm  all  your  fears,  my  band, 

Thus  far  I've  ventured  to  discover  land ; 

I  shall  go  on  until  the  land  is  gained, 

By  Heaven  directed  and  by  Heaven  sustained." 

With  direful  danger  thus  the  hour  was  rife, 
While  some  were  threatening  e'en  to  take  his  life. 


112  COLUMBUS. 

When  Heaven  itself  did  seem  to  interpose, 
The  calm  soon  ended,  and  the  sea  uprose. 
The  freshening  breeze  sends  courage  to  each  heart, 
Reason  returns,  and  each  performs  his  part. 
The  warbler  wandering  from  its  island-home, 
Flies  forth  to  greet  them  o'er  sea-fields  of  foam  ; 
They  view  with  joy  the  visitant  draw  near, 
And  list  enraptured  to  its  song  of  cheer. 

The  indications  of  approaching  land 

Are  frequent  seen  by  the  impatient  band. 

Meanwhile  the  sable  curtains  of  the  night 

With  darkness  veil  each  object  from  their  sight. 

Arising  from  the  sea  are  vapors  chill, 

While  all  around  is  hushed,  serenely  still ; 

Save  now  is  heard  the  zephyr's  murmuring  moan, 

Or  the  wave  sobbing  for  the  sunbeam  flown. 

There  'mid  the  gloomy  stillness  of  the  deep, 

O  !  what  a  vigil  doth  Columbus  keep. 

Exhausted  by  unceasing  toil  and  care, 
He  struggles  on  when  brave  hearts  would  despair  ; 
Drives  sleep  away,  the  needful  rest  foregoes, 
Unknown  to  him  unconscious  sweet  repose. 
E'en  when  tired  nature  claims  a  partial  rest, 
His  sleep  is  troubled  and  his  mind  oppressed. 
Ah  !  see  him  now  stand  leaning  o'er  the  rail  ; 
Weary  and  weak,  his  face  careworn  and  pale, 
Still  watching  as  each  laggard  moment  flies, 
With  sad  and  thoughtful  brow  and  sleepless  eyes. 

See  !  through  the  darkness  of  the  midnight  streams 
A  radiant  light,  whose  bright  and  flickering  beams 


COLUMBUS.  I  13 

With  blank  astonishment  his  eyes  perceive  ; 

Nor  could  his  mind  conjecture  or  conceive 

This  strange  delusion,  or  whate'er  it  be, 

Save  some  bright  star  had  stooped  to  kiss  the  sea. 

Lo,  now  it  moves  !  his  straining  eyes  dilate  ; 

What  fitful  omen  now  portends  his  fate  ; 

What  consummation  'waits  his  cherished  plan  ? 

The  light  moves  on  !  thought  centres  now  on  Man  ! 

Hours  sped  on ;  from  La  Pinta  in  advance, 

There  came  a  sound  which  fired  each  drooping  glance  : 

Land,  Land  !  the  cry  that  through  the  stillness  broke, 

From  dreams  of  home  the  startled  sleepers  woke  : 

They  throng  the  decks  and  through  the  darkness  peer, 

Their  hearts  are  stirred  by  mingled  hope  and  fear. 

Deceived  so  often,  could  it  now  be  true 

That  land  was  near,  and  yet  concealed  from  view  ? 

O,  that  the  darkness  would  but  fade  away ! 

They  anxious  wait  the  slow  approach  of  day. 

As  floats  the  thistle-down  before  the  breeze, 
So  darkest  night  before  the  morning  flees. 
Was  ever  sight  to  mortal  eyes  more  grand, 
As  dawning  day  revealed  the  sought-for  land  ; 
There  lay  the  object  of  their  lengthened  toil, 
Outlined  in  beauty,  clothed  with  fertile  soil  ; 
Through  stately  forests  robed  in  vestments  green, 
The  silver  streams  meander  bright  between. 
A  fragrance  sweet  is  wafted  on  the  air, 
To  smooth  the  wrinkles  of  desponding  care. 

Tumultuous  feelings  swayed  them  in  that  hour, 
Joy  thrilled  their  hearts,  despair  had  lost  its  power. 
8 


114  COLUMBUS. 

Now  that  success  had  crowned  the  enterprise, 
Repentant  tears  were  glistening  in  their  eyes. 
Regret  had  seized  upon  the  guilty  crew. 
And  they  for  pardon  now  entreating  sue. 
As  he  forgave  their  foul  and  grievous  wrong, 
What  gladsome  shouts  the  merry  band  prolong, 
While  visions  bright,  enraptured  they  behold, 
Of  honors,  titles,  and  exhaustless  gold. 

The  sea  lay  undisturbed  in  placid  grace, 

The  rising  sun  was  mirrored  on  its  face. 

The  merry  crew  to  man  the  boats  prepare, 

While  martial  music  echoes  on  the  air. 

Behold  Columbus  clad  in  rich  attire, 

His  careworn  face  lit  up  with  youthful  fire. 

The  warlike  pomp,  the  weapons  fierce  descry: 

The  grand  display,  the  banners  waving  high. 

Their  brawny  arms  ply  well  the  bending  oar, 

The  boats  glide  onward  towards  the  welcome  shore. 

Upon  the  shore  the  wondering  natives  throng, 
Gaze  on  the  ships,  and  startled  hear  the  song 
Come  o'er  the  waves,  as  distant  voices  raise 
The  joyous  tumult  of  resounding  praise. 
While  in  the  lazy  flapping  sails,  they  view 
The  snowy  wings  that  cleft  the  distant  blue  ; 
Deeming  the  white  men  inmates  of  the  sky, 
Borne  down  to  earth  from  starry  realms  on  high, 
They  shrink  with  fear  behind  the  sheltering  tree ; 
The  weird-like  spectres  skim  across  the  sea. 

They  near  the  shore,  the  keels  grate  on  the  sand, 
From  out  their  midst,  one  leaps  upon  the  land. 


COLUMBUS.  115 

'Tis  brave  Columbus,  first  to  touch  that  soil ; 
Success  at  length  rewards  incessant  toil. 
Prostrate  he  knelt  and  kissed  the  precious  ground, 
Shed  tears  of  joy,  while  followers  gathered  'round. 
The  flush  of  triumph  tinged  his  pallid  cheek, 
Joy  proved  too  great,  in  vain  he  tried  to  speak ; 
Emotion  throbbed  his  breast,  his  senses  thrilled, 
His  life-long  project  was  at  length  fulfilled ! 


At  Palos,  months  had  slowly  passed  away 

Since  the  small  fleet  departed  from  the  bay. 

Or  bad  or  joyful  tidings  none  had  reached  their  ears, 

To  increase  their  grief  or  soothe  their  anxious  fears. 

The  mother  thought  her  absent  son  no  more, 

And  dreamed  she  saw  him  'mid  the  billows'  roar. 

The  maiden  grew  more  pale  ;  oft  from  her  breast 

Escaped  the  sigh  —  her  lover  was  at  rest. 

Now,  as  she  sought  the  shore,  her  questioning  eyes 

Beheld  a  speck  grow  larger  'gainst  the  skies. 

And  long  she  watched  with  breathless  silence  there  — 
Love  never  yet  was  known  to  brook  despair  ; 
But  Hope's  low  embers  still  had  nursed  a  spark, 
To  kindle  forth  when  shrouded  in  the  dark. 
Joy  lit  her  eyes  and  flushed  the  cheek  so  pale, 
The  misty  verge  disclosed  a  tiny  sail ! 
Quick  spread  the  news,  commotion  stirred  the  town, 
With  breathless  speed  vast  crowds  came  harrying  down ; 
All  traffic  ceased,  the  bells  with  welcome  rung, 
While  shouts  of  triumph  loosed  each  silent  tongue. 

No  more  the  prattling  dreamer  of  his  age, 
The  jest  of  courtier  and  the  scoff  of  sage  ; 


Il6  COLUMBUS. 

No  more  shall  children  when  they  him  descry, 
Point  to  their  foreheads  as  he  passes  by. 
He  triumphs  now  despite  their  taunts  and  jeers, 
Solves  ocean's  mystery  for  all  coming  years. 
By  unborn  millions  shall  his  name  be  blest, 
Who  opes  the  pathway  to  the  boundless  West. 
See !  he  returns  ;  the  precious  news  he  brings, 
Shall  make  him  greater  e'en  than  throned  kings. 

The  weather-beaten  ship,  with  tattered  sails, 

Told  of  fierce  conflicts  with  terrific  gales  ; 

When  all  seemed  lost,  and  when  the  lightning's  glare 

Illumined  faces  livid  with  despair ; 

When  vows,  entreaties,  prayers,  seemed  all  in  vain, 

The  tempest's  awful  fury  to  restrain  ; 

When  fear  had  seized  upon  the  bravest  heart, 

Columbus  silent  stood,  from  all  apart, 

With  deep  emotion  gazed  around,  o'erhead, 

Upon  the  warring  elements  —  all  hope  had  fled  ! 

O,  potent  hour  !  for  lasting  good  or  ill, 
E'en  now  we  seem  to  see  that  giant  will 
Confront  his  pending  fate  with  dauntless  breast, 
As  boding  thoughts  his  troubled  mind  oppressed. 
Still  raged  the  storm,  no  pity  seemed  to  show : 
His  Great  Discovery  earth  may  never  know, 
The  fatal  surge  o'er  them  engulfing  sweep, 
And  Genius  in  its  depths  forever  sleep. 
His  fate  unknown,  the  world  Columbus  deem, 
A  fool  who  perished  for  an  idle  dream. 

The  raging  blast  was  shrieking  through  the  shrouds, 
Rain  fell  in  torrents  from  the  inky  clouds  ; 


COLUMBUS.  117 

The  angry  waves  upon  the  deck  would  crawl, 
Dart  out  their  frothy  tongues,  as  if  to  appall 
The  trembling  wretches  clinging  to  the  mast, 
As  towards  the  skies  imploring  looks  they  cast. 
The  surging  sea  more  threatening  seemed  to  roll ; 
Columbus  wrote  upon  a  parchment  scroll, 
Then  glanced  on  high,  as  'mid  the  waves  he  hurled 
The  cask  that  held  the  record  of  a  world  ! 

Success  —  the  measure  of  enduring  fame  ; 
While  failure  merits  scorn,  reproach,  and  shame. 
,  As  Genius  struggles  towards  his  destined  end, 
To  one  or  other  all  his  efforts  tend. 
A  pebble  proves  no  barrier  to  success, 
The  towering  mountains  cause  our  sole  distress. 
They  rise  before  us  in  the  paths  we  tread, 
And    check     our    course    like    phantoms     stark    and 

dread. 

Thus,  had  he  perished  in  the  stormy  haze, 
No  gentle  Irving  ere  had  lisped  his  praise. 

Propitious  Heaven  ordained  the  enterprise  ; 
The  fearful  storm  gave  place  to  sunny  skies. 
Their  trials,  dangers,  and  disasters  passed, 
The  little  ship  is  safely  moored  at  last : 
Columbus  welcomed  now  with  loud  acclaim, 
By  those  who  once  had  been  the  first  to  blame, 
Whose  cruel  schemes  were  planned  in  vain  to  thwart 
The  glorious  object  which  Columbus  sought. 
Ovations  greet  him  now  on  every  hand,  — 
The  Great  Discoverer  of  another  land  ! 


Il8  COLUMBUS. 

Loud  in  his  praise  was  Gossip's  nimble  tongue, 
Age  felt  new  life,  wild  transports  thrilled  the  young. 
The  Old  World,  all  that  ever  met  their  view  — 
It  paled  before  the  splendors  of  the  New, 
Whose  dazzling  glories  were  as  yet  untold, 
Whose  crystal  streams  were  bright  with  glistening  gold. 
Lo  !  countless  thousands  now  his  pathway  throng, 
With  loud  huzzas  and  glorious  bursts  of  song. 
His  king  receives  him  with  most  gracious  mien; 
How  great  his  triumph  and  how  grand  the  scene  ! 


Turn  from  the  pageant,  stop  the  trumpet's  breath  ; 
The  scene  is  changed,  it  is  the  hour  of  death. 
O  Genius,  what  a  cruel  fate  is  thine ! 
Though  base  Injustice  left  thee  thus  to  pine, 
Though  cold  Ingratitude  rewards  thy  pains, 
And  Envy  bound  thy  aged  limbs  with  chains, 
Though  brazen  Fraud,  unto  his  lasting  shame, 
Hath  robbed  a  world  of  its  discoverer's  name  — 
Wherever  Truth  and  Justice  are  revered, 
To  every  breast  thy  name  shall  be  endeared  — 

The  minstrel  wake  from  his  inspiring  dream, 

And  seek  in  vain  to  find  a  nobler  theme. 

The  page  of  history  with  thy  name  shall  blaze, 

Proclaim  thy  struggles  and  enhance  thy  praise. 

Youth  shall  a  lesson  from    thy  greatness  learn, 

And  struggle  onward  though  the  world  should  spurn ; 

The  voice  of  eloquence  thy  story  tell, 

The  hearts  of  thousands  with  emotion  swell. 


-COLUMBUS.  119 

Honor  for  thee  shall  wake  the  trembling  lyre, 
Fame  write  her  scroll  in  characters  of  fire. 

O  heartless  Ferdinand !  thou  didst  repay 

A  life  of  hardship  with  unjust  delay. 

When  sickness  laid  him  low,  in  vain  he  sues 

His  king  to  grant  him  but  his  promised  dues. 

With  cold  neglect  thou  answerest  all  his  prayers, 

Withhold'st  the  pittance  for  his  toils  and  cares 

Though  he  was  dying  !  O,  what  lasting  scorn 

Awaits  thee  from  the  millions  yet  unborn! 

His  world-wide  fame  no  sceptered  king  can  blast, 

On  Time's  great  wheel  Truth  topmost  stands  at  last. 


REMEMBRANCE. 

OFTTIMES  we're  sad,  our  sky  seems  overcast 
With  stretching  clouds,  and   then  we    seek  re 
pose 

Of  mind :  at  Thought's  ethereal  touch,  unclose 
The  crystal  gates  to  Memory's  hall,  so  vast. 
Radiance  streams  o'er  the  pictures  of  the  Past  — 

The  pictures  painted  in  our  lives  each  day; 

There  they  remain  and  will  remain  alway, 
To  haunt  or  please  us  with  their  sight  at  last. 
O,  what  a  lesson  for  our  guidance  traced : 

A  word  once  spoken,  cannot  be  unsaid, 
A  deed  once  done,  can  never  be  effaced ! 

Let  Virtue's  coloring  o'er  each  scene  be  spread, 
And  let  our  lives  with  actions  just  be  graced  — 

The  Past  a  halo  round  our  Future  shed. 


THE   SOFT  ANSWER. 

TREASURES  vast  we'd  scatter  wide, 
Could  we  but  renounce 
Words  of  passion  and  of  pride, 
Hasty  tongues  pronounce  — 

Words  which  chafed  the  hearts  of  those 

Bound  by  dearest  ties, 
Till  affection's  waters  rose 

Gushing  from  the  eyes. 

Mould  in  love  thy  angry  speech, 

Smiles,  not  frowns  display ; 
For  'tis  this,  the  Scriptures  teach, 

Turneth  wrath  away. 


THE   TAUNT. 

HOW  many  ne'er  had  erred 
But  for  the  taunting  word, 
That  wrought  its  spell  ; 
This  was  the  fatal  sting, 
This  shot  broke  virtue's  wing, 
Earthward  they  fell. 

The  taunt  that  cleft  the  air 
Dispelled  a  mother's  prayer 

Some  heart  had  cherished ; 
The  parted  lips  would  speak, 
But  blushes  tinged  the  cheek  — 

The  "  No  !  "  had  perished. 

O !  taunt  not  those  who  aim 
To  live  without  a  blame  — 

Withhold  the  blow  ; 
Else,  see  thy  victim  fall, 
And  plunge  beyond  recall, 

In  deepest  woe. 


O   YOU   MAY    SING   OF   THE   ROSY  WINE. 

A    TEMPERANCE     DITTY. 

OYOU  may  sing  of  the  rosy  wine, 
As  its  sparkling  bubbles  rise, 
And  sip  its  sweets  as  a  gift  divine, 
Till  its  blush  is  in  your  eyes. 

But  think,  my  friends,  of  the  woe  it  brings 
To  the  hearts  of  old  and  young  — 

Its  taste  has  flown  on  the  vision's  wings, 
And  the  song  remains  unsung. 

If  all  could  drink  with  the  reason  clear, 
With  the  mind  undimmed  and  sound, 

O,  then  Life's  bark  would  have  nought  to  fear 
From  the  rocks  that  rise  around. 

'Tis  sad  to  think  that  the  noblest  heart 

Is  the  first  ofttimes  to  fall ; 
In  vain  the  tears  of  a  mother  start, 

And  in  vain  her  lips  may  call. 

The  wine-stream  flows  with  its  rosy  face 

On  the  heart  so  pure  and  fair, 
Engraved  with  truth  and  each  gentle  grace  — 

Till  it  wears  the  record  bare! 


THE  WAR. 

AS  the  lightning's  instant  stroke 
Shivers  heart  of  rugged  oak, 
Through  the  battle's  stifling  smoke 

Belching  cannons  flash. 
Shouts  of  triumph,  banners  flying; 
Groans  and  shrieks  of  thousands  dying; 
See  the  ghastly  faces  lying  — 
Hear  the  weapons  clash  ! 

Fierce  the  conflict  now  is  raging, 
Hand  to  hand  the  foe  engaging : 
Death,  destruction,  each  is  waging, 

As  the  columns  meet. 
See  the  eyes  with  hatred  glaring ! 
See  the  looks  of  those  despairing ! 
See  the  ponderous  missiles  tearing 

Ranks  now  incomplete  ! 

List  the  widow's  lonely  sighing ; 
Hear  the  frantic  maiden  crying 
For  her  lover,  wounded,  dying ; 

See  the  mother's  grief! 
God  !    O  spare  our  Country's  life  ;, 
If  through  bloody,  civil  strife, 
With  fresh  horrors  make  it  rife, 

That  it  may  be  brief. 


THE  PROPHET  OF  OUR  DREAMS. 

T)ENEATH  a  cowl  of  roses,  odorous  with    a    rich 

JD     perfume, 

With  noiseless  step,  the  prophet  Hope  invades  the  si 
lent  room, 

And  on  our  sad  and  heavy  heart  he  breathes  a  witch 
ing  spell ; 

The  ear  drinks  in  sweet  music,  as  the  murmur  of  a 
shell  ; 

Bright  visions  flit  across  the  mind  —  in  vain  it  strives 
to  seize, 

We're  borne  away  on  downy  wings  and  lost  in  reveries. 

Ah !  then  he  whispers  thrilling  words,  and  lifts  the 
cowl  of  roses  — 

A  face  of  beauty,  lit  with  smiles,  unto  our  gaze  dis 
closes. 

We  list  enraptured  to  the  words  that  tell  our  future 
fate  — 

On  us  the  eyes  of  beauty  shine,  on  us  the  proudest 
wait. 

We  see  an  airy  castle  rise,  its  crystal  gates  behold  ; 

We  dream  of  fame,  and  honor's  prize,  and  clutch  at 
hoards  of  gold. 

We  hear  again  the  wierd-like  strain  that  murmurs  soft 
and  low : 

We  see  the  silver  lining  to  the  sombre  cloud  of  woe. 


126         THE  PROPHET  OF  OUR  DREAMS. 

The  mind    awakes  to  living    things,  the    senses  wildly 

thrill ; 
The    prophet    has    departed,    and    the    room   is  silent 

still. 
Begone,  false  prophet !  shout  we,  and  forever  quit  our 

sight  — 
Yet  stay  !  thy  visions    haunt   us  yet,  and    fill    us  with 

delight. 
As  through    the    murky  darkness    now  we    strain   our 

eager  eyes, 
We  see  a  flitting  shadow  pause,  and  point    us    to  the 

skies. 


POEM 

FOR   THE     FOURTH     OF   JULY   CELEBRATION     AT   DENVER, 
COLORADO,    1865. 

DARKLY  the  clouds  were  obscuring  our  vision, 
Chilling  our  hopes  and  awakening  our  fears  ; 
Stony-faced  Fate,  how  we  braved  thy  decision, 

When  the  first  war-note  had  startled  our  ears  ! 
When  sister  stars  from  our  firmament  straying, 

Threatened  destruction  and  death  to  our  land, 
Hatred  the  breast  of  our  brother  was  swaying  — 
Reason  no  longer  had  power  to  command. 

Then  the  great  North  like  a  giant  was  shaken, 

Buckling  its  armor  for  conflict  and  strife ; 
Turning  not  back  from  the  path  it  had  taken, 

Battling  for  Union  and  national  life  : 
Fighting  the  same   bloody  conflict  of  ages, 

Which  through  the  annals  of  history  we  scan  ; 
Solving  the  problem  which  puzzled  the  sages  — 

Freedom  the  birthright  of  God  unto  man  ! 

Breaking  the  chain  which  to  error  had  bound  us, 
Crushing  the  viper  we  warmed  into  life ; 

Vowing  that  slavery  no  more  should  confound  us, 
Breeding  its  factions  and  sectional  strife. 

But  when  redeemed  from  the  curse  that  hung  o'er  us, 
We,  as  a  people,  united  should  stand  — 


128        POEM  FOR  THE  FOURTH  OF  JULY. 

Lo  !  what  a  prospect  would  open  before  us, 

When  the  great  Future  should  dawn  on  our  land. 

Fierce  was  the  struggle,  and  bloody,  and  long, 

Greater  than  ever  the  world  had  beheld  ; 
Armies  so  mighty,  a  people  so  strong, 

Tempests  of  fury  so  slow  to  be  quelled. 
In  the  great  balance  the  Nation  oft  trembled, 

Often  the  pulse  of  the  people  beat  low  ; 
Strong  in  their  cause  were  the  sons,  who  resembled 

Fathers  whose  footsteps  once   crimsoned  the    snow ! 

All  the  old  monarchs  of  Europe  grew  stronger,  — 

Stronger  in  hope  of  their  tenure  of  power ; 
Deeming  our  Nation  a  Nation  no  longer, 

That,  in  the  contest,  at  length  we  must  cower ; 
Going  the  way  of  Republics  before  us, 

Into  the  depths  of  oblivion's  sea ; 
But,  on  this  day  —  lo !  the  Nation's  grand  chorus 

Thunders  the  answer  — -  To-day  we  are  free  ! 

Slowly  the  years  round  the  dial  were  creeping, 

Bringing  the  struggle  at  length  to  a  close  ; 
Southward  the  army  of  Sherman  was  sweeping, 

Striking  rebellion  most  terrible  blows. 
Onward,  towards  Richmond,  our  heroes  were  routing 

Lee  and  the  rebels  who  held  us  at  bay ; 
Sherman  and  Grant !  —  lo  !  the  people  are  shouting, 

Proudly  o'er  Richmond  our  flag  floats  to-day ! 

From  the  dark  cloud,  lo !  the  sunlight  was  streaming, 
Faint  was  the  echo  from  War's  brazen  throat ; 

Joy  in  the  face  of  the  Nation  was  beaming, 
Justice  the  cause  of  the  traitor  had  smote. 


POEM    FOR   THE    FOURTH    OF   JULY.  1 29 

Out  from  the  cloud  with  its  golden-hued  splendor, 
Shot  the  swift  thunderbolt,  crazing  our  brain  ; 

He  whom  you  loved,  so  kind-hearted  and  tender, 
LINCOLN  —  the  hope  of  the  people  —  was  slain. 

Fell  was  the  blow  which  had  startled  the  nation, 

Hellish  the  plot  which  assassins  had  planned  ; 
Striking  at  those  who  were  highest  in  station, 

Shrouding  in  sorrow  the  hopes  of  the  land. 
Breakers  of  chaos  around  us  were  roaring, 

Threatening  the  old  Ship  of  State  to  o'erwhelm  ; 
Shades  of  the  heroes   above  us  were  soaring, 

God  of  our  fathers  was  guiding  the  helm  ! 

Out  of  the  furnace  of  trial  the  stronger, 

Out  of  the  shadow  and  into  the  sun ; 
Shaken  with  war  and  convulsion  no  longer, 

Freedom  has  triumphed,  the  battle  is  won  ! 
Honor  the  heroes  —  for  us  they  have  bled, 

Green  be  the  turf  o'er  each  patriot's  grave  ; 
Honor  the  living,  and  honor  the  dead. 

Long  as  the  flag  they  have  rescued  shall  wave ! 

Tendril  and  vine  from  the  bomb-shell  is  springing, 

And  the  old  battle-fields  blossom  with  beauty ! 
Peace  is  the  anthem  which  Nature  is  singing, 

Plant  the  fresh  germs  of  affection  and  duty. 
Pardon  the  foe  and  bring  back  the  old  feeling, 

Rebels  are  shedding  the  tears  of  regret ; 
As  round  the  altar  of  Country  we're  kneeling, 

Charity  whispers  —  "  Forgive  and  forget." 
9 


130  POEM    FOR   THE    FOURTH    OF   JULY. 

Into  the  sunlight  again  we  are  drifting, 

Darkness  and  sorrow  like  shadows  have  flown 
Hope  —  the  dim  veil  of  the  Future  is  lifting, 

Glimpses  of  glory  around  us  are  thrown. 
Banish  the  Past,  for  the  pathway  before  us 

Leads  to  a  Future  most  dazzling  and  grand  ; 
Borne  on  her  snowy  wings  Peace  hovers  o'er  us, 

Rainbows  of  Promise  encircle  the  land. 


POEM 

FOR   THE   MASONIC  CELEBRATION  AT   DENVER,  COLORADO, 
JUNE    24,    1867. 

RING  out  the  song  of  gladness,  let  the  glorious 
paean  swell, 
In    going   round    the    Circle,    we    have    touched    the 

Parallel  ! 

The  day  the  old  sun-worshippers  in  ages  past  revered, 
By  stronger  ties  of  sympathy  to  Masons  is  endeared. 
To-day,  the  faithful   everywhere,  who  work  by  Square 

and  Line, 
Shall   hail   the   blessed   memory   of    our   patron   saint 

divine. 

The  Beauteous    Column   stands  erect  —  no  work   laid 

out  to-day, 

From  labor  to  refreshment,  we  the  welcome  call  obey. 
The  'Prentice  in  the  quarry's  depths  no  Ashlar  Rough 

shall  bear, 
The  Craftsman  lay  aside  his  tools  —  the  Level,  Plumb, 

and  Square  ; 
The    Master  Workman   on   the  wall,  delay  the  Grand 

Design  — 
To  hail  the  blessed  memory  of  our  patron  saint  divine. 


132  POEM    FOR   ST.    JOHN'S   DAY. 

Throughout  the  nation,  far  and  wide,  the  mystic  legions 
throng, 

Firm  champions  in  the  cause  of  truth,  the  secret  foes 
of  wrong. 

Each  quiet  hamlet  echoes  with  the  sound  of  tramp 
ing  feet ; 

They  move  in  mighty  concourse  through  the  city's 
crowded  street ; 

Their  banners  waving  proudly,  while  their  jewels 
brightly  shine, 

In  honor  of  the  memory  of  our  patron  saint  divine. 

No  blood-stained  laurels  deck  the  brows  of  that  fra 
ternal  band, 

No  desolation  marks  their  path,  no  ruins  strew  the 
land  ; 

Their  victories  are  o'er  sin  and  wrong,  o'er  suffering, 
want,  and  pain, 

Ascending  prayers  of  gratitude  their  sweetest  bugle 
strain, 

As  round  the  crushed  and  bleeding  heart  love's  ten 
drils  they  entwine  — 

Those  who  thus  hail  the  memory  of  their  patron  saint 
divine. 

The  pure  and   spotless  lambskin  is  the  glorious  badge 

they  wear ; 
They  wage  their  moral  warfare  with  the  Compass  and 

the  Square. 
The  upraised  hand  is  paralyzed,  and  passion  stricken 

dumb, 
For  each  must  walk  uprightly  with  his   eye  upon   the 

Plumb  — 


POEM   FOR   ST.   JOHN'S   DAY.  133 

Those   brethren  of  the   mystic   tie,  whose   hearts   this 

day  incline, 
To  celebrate  the  memory  of  our  patron  saint  divine. 

Then  usher  in  our  gala  day  with  joyousness  and  mirth, 
And  swell  the  grand  old  chorus  as  it  circles  round 

the  earth, 
With  kindly  words  of  greeting  from  the  mountains   to 

the  sea  — 
Our  hearts   are  on  the  Level,  though  our  bodies   may 

not  be ; 
Then  gathering   round   the  festive   board,    pour   forth 

the  generous  wine, 
And  drink  a  toast  in  memory  of  our  patron  saint  divine. 

'Tis  fitting  on  a  day  like  this,  when  brethren  thus  are 

met, 
To   dwell    on   themes    each    Mason    loves   and   never 

can  forget ; 

To  trace  the  course  of  Masonry  until  it  disappears 
Amid  the   ruins   of  the  past,  the   gathering   gloom  of 

years, 
Till  breaking  through  the  mists  of  time,  it  bursts  upon 

our  sight, 
And  pours  from  Mount  Moriah's  hill,  its  blazing  stream 

of  light. 

Coeval  with  creation  though  its  truths  illumed  the  earth, 
'Twas  in  the  reign  of  Solomon  our  Order  had  its  birth. 
Among  the  thousands  of  the  Craft  who  at  the  Temple 

wrought, 
It  stamped  its  mighty  impress  on   each   action,  word, 

and  thought. 


134  POEM  FOR  ST.  JOHN'S  DAY. 

Two  Temples  they  were  rearing  by  the  aid  of  Square 

and  Line, 
The  Outward  and  Material  —  the  Inward  and  Divine. 

The  One  —  in  silent  grandeur  rose ;  no  ringing  sound 
was  heard 

Of  axe  or  other  metal  tool,  nor  one  discordant  word. 

In  perfect  peace  and  harmony  they  plied  their  cun 
ning  art, 

The  secret  tie  of  Brotherhood  had  bound  them  heart 
to  heart. 

And  lo  !  the  toiling  legions  from  the  Quarry  to  the 
Hill, 

Were  moved  by  its  mysterious  power  and  felt  its  quick 
ening  thrill. 

Seven  years   they  wrought  with  patient  toil,  and  when 

their  work  was  done, 
The  Temple  with  its  golden  spires  stood  glistening  in 

the  sun. 

Its  splendor  and   magnificence  enraptured  every  gaze, 
And  filled  the   thronging  multitudes  with  wonder  and 

amaze. 

As  Israel's  crowning  glory  shall  its  fame  forever  last, 
And   in   Tradition's  whispers   link  the   present  to  the 

past. 

The  Other  —  when  the  eyes  wax  dim,  and  fainter  grows 

each  breath, 
Approaches  its  completion  and  awaits  'the  Capestone  — 

Death. 
If  mystic  tools  and  implements,  and  symbols  pure  and 

bright 


POEM    FOR   ST.    JOHN'S    DAY.  135 

Have   served   their  holy  purpose   and   have   fashioned 

it  aright  • — 
The  Temple  of  a  Glorious   Life   stands   finished   and 

complete, 
And  in  that  Foreign  Country  with  the  Builder  we  shall 

meet. 

The   Temple  of  King  Solomon  completed  'neath  their 

hands, 
The  Craft  dispersed  and  wandered  forth  through  earth's 

remotest  lands. 
They  heard  the  Gavel  echo  and    they  saw  the  Trowel 

gleam, 

Amid  Arabia's  deserts  and  by  Egypt's  sacred  stream. 
They   crossed   the  plains    of    Syria,    the   mountains  of 

Judaea, 
In    Asia  and   in   India   they   were    scattered   far   and 

near. 

Within  the  silent  wilderness,  and  on  the  desert  waste, 
The  relics  of  their  genius  are  amid  the  ruins  traced. 
They  reared  earth's  grandest  monuments,  her  temples 

and  her  fanes  ; 
Alas  !  'neath  Time's   unsparing  hand  —  scarce  one  of 

them  remains. 
Before   the    Chaldee's    vengeful    ire,    the   Temple   was 

o'erthrown, 
The  gorgeous  fabric  sank  to  earth,  a   shapeless  mass 

of  stone. 

The  Temple   made  of  wood  and   stone   may   crumble 

and  decay, 
But  there's   a  viewless   fabric  which   shall    never   fade 

away. 


136  POEM    FOR   ST.    JOHN'S   DAY. 

Age   after  age   each   Mason   strives   to   carry  out  the 

plan, 
But  still   the  work 's   unfinished   which  those    ancient 

Three  began. 
None  but  immortal  eyes  may  view  complete   in  all  its 

parts, 
The  Temple  formed  of  Living  Stones  —  the   structure 

made  of  hearts. 

Although  the  Craft  for  centuries  is  often  lost  to  view, 
Within  the  darkest  ages  they  were  steadfast,  firm,  and 

true. 
Despite   the   dungeon  and   the   rack,  relentless   bigots 

failed 
To  penetrate   the  mystery  with  which  our  truths  were 

veiled ; 
Within  the  hidden  caves  of  earth,  secure  from  lurking 

foes, 
The  hallowed  lights  still  burned  undimmed,  the  clouds 

of  incense  rose. 

'Neath  every  form  of  government,  in  every  age  and 
clime, 

Amid  the  world's  convulsions  and  the  ghastly  wrecks 
of  time, 

While  empires  rise  in  splendor  and  are  conquered  and 
o'erthrown, 

And  cities  crumble  in  the  dust,  their  very  sites  un 
known, 

Beneath  the  sunny  smile  of  peace,  the  threatening 
frown  of  strife, 

Lo  !  Masonry  has  stood  unmoved  —  with  age  renewed 
her  life. 


POEM    FOR   ST.    JOHN'S    DAY.  137 

She  claims  her  votaries  in  all  climes,  for  none  are 
under  ban, 

Who  place  implicit  trust  in  God,  and  love  their  fellow- 
man. 

The  heart  that  shares  another's  woe,  beats  just  as 
warm  and  true, 

Within  the  breast  of  Christian,  or  Mohammedan,  or 
Jew. 

She  levels  all  distinctions  from  the  highest  to  the 
least, 

The  King  must  yield  obedience  to  the  peasant  in  the 
East. 

When  troubles  come,  as  come  they  must,  and  fortune 
wears  a  frown, 

The  cruel  world  will  shun  a  man  the  moment  he  is 
down. 

Behold  the  Mason's  hand  outstretched,  his  eyes  with 
tears  are  wet, 

He'll  lift  him  to  his  feet  again,  he  is  a  brother  yet. 

The  Mason  finds,  whate'er  his  lot,  where'er  his  foot 
steps  roam, 

"  In  every  clime  a  brother,  and  in  every  land  a 
home." 

Dear  ladies  !  though  our  rites  are  veiled,  our  secrets 
hid  from  view, 

There  is  a  chord  within  our  hearts  which  binds  us 
unto  you. 

Through  husband,  father,  brother,  you  to  us  may  be 
allied, 

In  sickness,  trouble,  or  distress,  your  wants  be  satis 
fied. 


138  POEM    FOR   ST.    JOHN'S   DAY. 

Should  tempter  with  his  arts  assail,  or  dangers  dread 

alarm. 
As  long  as  there's  a  Mason  near,  you  shall  not  suffer 

harm. 

Though  countless  rites  and  mysteries  have  sought  to 
sway  mankind, 

To  make  their  impress  on  the  heart,  or  captivate  the 
mind, 

Yet  Masonry  survives  them  all,  the  undistinguished 
crowd  — 

She  saw  them  in  their  swaddling-clothes  and  in  their 
burial  shroud ; 

The  new-born  truths  they  fain  would  teach,  and  which 
they  built  upon, 

Were  scattered  rays  from  Masonry  —  the  blazing  cen 
tral  sun. 

Let  those  who  rail  at  Secrecy,  pray  tell  us  what  is  Life, 
The    greatest    mystery    yet    unsolved,    although    with 

theories  rife  ; 
Why  God,  the  Mighty  Builder,  veils  his  purposes  from 

view  ; 
Why   Nature     teems   with    labyrinths,   we   grope     and 

wander  through. 
God's    hallowed    truths,  to    us    revealed,  the    basis   of 

our  art, 
Are  hidden  from  the  vulgar  gaze    and    graven  on  the 

heart. 

The  Temple  of  the  Universe,  which  God  himself  hath 

made, 
With  what  a  grand  mosaic  is  its   beauteous  pavement 

laid. 


POEM    FOR   ST.    JOHN'S    DAY.  139 

Tall  mountains  with    cloud-chapiters,  the    fabric    rests 

upon, 
Roofed  with  the   blue    ethereal    sky,  illumined   by  the 

sun. 
'Mid    songs    of  birds    and    murmuring   streams,    and 

thunders  deep   and  loud, 
The  novice  makes  his  progress  from  the  cradle  to  the 

shroud. 

What  honored    names    on    history's    page,  o'er    whose 

brave  deeds  we  pore, 
Have   knelt    before  our    sacred    shrine,  and    trod    the 

checkered  floor. 
Kings,  princes,  statesmen,  heroes,  bards,  who  squared 

their  actions   true, 
Between   the  Pillars  of  the  Porch,  they  pass    in    long 

review. 
O  brothers  !    what  a  glorious  thought    for  us  to  dwell 

upon  ; 
The  Mystic  Tie  which    binds    our  hearts,  bound    that 

of  WASHINGTON. 

Although  our  past  achievements  we  with  conscious 
pride  review, 

As  long  as  there's  Rough  Ashlars,  there  is  work  for 
us  to  do. 

We  still  must  shape  the  Living  Stones  with  instru 
ments  of  love, 

For  that  eternal  Mansion  in  the  Paradise  above, 

Toil  as  we've  toiled  in  ages  past,  to  carry  out  the 
plan  — 

'Tis  this :  The  Fatherhood  of  GOD,  the  Brotherhood  of 
MAN. 


NOTES. 


»  Note  i,  page  52.  —  Immense  numbers  from  South  Bend  and 
Posey  County,  Indiana,  also  from  Pike  County,  Missouri,  helped  to 
swell  the  tide  of  emigration  to  the  gold  regions. 

Note  2,  page  52.  —  "  Prairie  schooner."  A  large  emigrant  or 
freight  wagon. 

Note  3,  page  56.  —  "  Color."  The  residue  of  small  particles  of 
gold  remaining  in  the  pan,  after  the  dirt  has  been  washed  or 
"panned  out." 

Note  4,  page  58.  —  "  Graybacks."  Body  lice  of  a  large  size,  and 
of  a  grayish  color.  No  allusion  would  have  been  made  to  such 
disgusting  objects,  were  it  not  for  the  attention  they  have  received 
at  the  hands  of  thousands  ! 

Note  5,  page  59.  —  "  To  make  the  riffle."  Literally,  to  achieve 
success. 

Note  6,  page  59.  — "A  man  for  breakfast."  An  expression  sig 
nifying  that  a  murder  has  been  committed. 

Note  7,  page  59.  —  "  Vigys."  Members  of  the  Vigilance  Com 
mittee. 

Note  8,  page  61.  —  "  Muckie-muck."  Of  Indian  origin,  signify 
ing  "  last  resource." 

Note  9,  page  65.  —  Pronounced  War-for-no,  or  War-fa-nor. 

Note  10,  page  65.  —  "  Bummer."  An  individual  who  was  never 
known  to  miss  a  meal  or  pay  a  cent. 

Note  n,  page  65.  —  "Caravan."  An  affair  resembling  a  cage 
for  wild  beasts,  used  for  transporting  express  matter  across  the 
plains. 


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